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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


Deceived 
Accessions  A 


NARCISSUS 


AND 


OTHER    POEMS 


BY 

WALTER   MALONE. 


$3 

TFHIVBRSITY 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PRINTED  BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 
1893. 


Copyright,  1892,  by  WALTER  MALONE. 


I 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

NARCISSUS 7 

ORPHEUS  AND  THE  SIRENS 80 

ETERNAL   LOVE 37 

"  JESUS  WEPT" 40 

THE  GRAVEYARD 48 

A  VANISHED  SUMMER 45 

THE  ONE  LOVE 47 

"  HE  WHO  HATH  LOVED" 48 

UNSPOKEN  LOVE    .   . "". 48 

"  THOU  LITTLE  DREAMEST" 49 

SONNET      49 

A  BRIDAL  BALLAD 50 

THE  BYRON  CENTENARY — 1788-1888 52 

A  WEDDING  SONG 53 

THE  FIRST  TRANSGRESSION 54 

GLADSTONE 56 

EODERICK  D.  GAMBRELL 58 

DYNAMITE 60 

LEONORA 62 

SHELLEY— 1792-1892 68 

WILL  HUBBARD  KERNAN 68 

A  SONG  OF  TO-DAY 69 

HER  ANSWER 71 

THE  PRINCE'S  WEDDING 72 

ELIZABETH  AND  ESSEX    .    . 78 

MY  QUEEN 81 

WHEN  I  GET  KICH 81 

THE  POSTMAN 84 

BYRON 86 

6 


6  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

To  DK.  J.  J.  WHEAT 88 

A  VISION  IN  ASHES 89 

A  FIRESIDE  PHANTOM 91 

TRIUMPHANT  LOVE 95 

THE  OLD  COLLEGE  DAYS 97 

THE  MOCKING-BIRD 99 

"YE  BACHELOR" 106 

A  FLOWER  FROM  THE  GRAVE  OF  SHELLEY 109 

THE  LITTLE  WANDERER 110 

"  SCORN  NOT  THE  HEART" 112 

CONFIRMATION 112 

"MARY" 113 

SLEEPING  AND  WAKING 115 

"TELL    HOW    I    MAY    PRAISE    THEE" 117 

"  BACK  TO  THE  WORLD"    .                                                ,  118 


OF  THE 

TII7BESIT7] 


NARCISSUS  AND  OTHER 
POEMS. 


NARCISSUS. 
I. 

THE  Morning  flamed  above  the  Doric  hills 

In  all  the  joyous  glory  of  her  youth, 

As  though  her  roses  would  be  red  forever, 

And  deck  the  wide  earth  with  unfading  bloom. 

Her  sparkling  eyes  dimmed  all  the  night's  wan  stars, 

Her  red  cheeks  tinged  the  clouds  with  crimson  fire, 

While  silvery  arrows  from  her  worlds  of  light 

Dispersed  the  grim  shades  from  the  verdant  woods. 

The  lithe  stag  started  from  his  grassy  couch 

And  shook  the  dew-drops  from  his  branching  horns, 

The  falcon  spread  his  light  wings  to  the  winds 

And  darted  upward  like  a  sharpened  spear ; 

The  herdsman  led  his  oxen  to  the  brook, 

Whose  wavelets  wondered  at  the  great  round  eyes ; 

Then  merry  laughter  from  the  roguish  fauns 

Resounded  keenly  through  the  leafy  dells ; 

But  louder  than  them  all,  some  piping  sprite 

Made  liquid  music  with  the  warbling  birds. 

But  soon  Narcissus  left  his  flowery  couch, 

Narcissus,  ever  young  and  beautiful ! 

And  there  amid  resplendent  beams  of  morn, 

Amid  the  odorous  blossoms  soft  and  sweet, 

And  wildly  graceful  spirits  of  the  woods, 

7 


8  NARCISSUS. 

Narcissus  shone  the  wonder  of  them  all. 
No  red  deer's  skin,  no  tawny  lion's  hide, 
No  woven  fabric  round  his  shoulders  hung, 
For  young  Narcissus  roamed  in  beauty  nude ; 
His  soft  round  limbs,  fair  as  a  lily's  buds, 
Were  never  hidden  in  a  useless  garb. 

The  flush  of  boyhood  still  adorned  his  face, 
A  childish  beauty  budding  into  youth  ; 
He  scampered  nimbly  like  a  half-grown  god, 
With  shrill  songs  varying  to  a  deepening  bass. 
Sweet  little  dimples  flitted  round  his  mouth, 
His  curving  arms  were  lovely  as  a  babe's, 
His  little  feet  like  wondrous  tinted  shells, 
With  tiny  peeping  toes  like  purest  pearls. 
His  roguish  eyes  bent  downward  timidly, 
As  though  ashamed  to  see  his  nakedness; 
His  golden  ringlets  hung  upon  his  breast, 
Too  short  to  hide  his  sweet  enchanting  charms. 

The  nymphs  beheld  him  in  his  boyish  grace, 
Enraptured  by  his  rounded,  naked  limbs, 
Drinking  his  beauty  like  some  wondrous  wine, 
That  makes  the  blood  burst  into  flowers  of  flame, 
Their  bosoms  madly  throbbing,  eyes  afire, 
Breath  wildly  panting  in  an  eager  love, 
So  that  they  longed  to  clasp  him  in  their  arms 
Forever  in  delirious  blissful  swoons. 
And  often  all  day  would  they  follow  him, 
Untiring,  through  the  distant  woods  and  fields  j 
They'd  stroll  beside  him,  call  him  by  pet  names, 


NARCISSUS.  9 

Clasp  his  soft  cheeks  and  stroke  his  curly  hair. 
Oft  would  they  leap  upon  him  from  the  ferns, 
And  kiss  his  sweet  lips  o'er  and  o'er  again, 
Or  madly  beg  him  for  one  word  of  love, 
Or  one  embrace  to  give  them  in  return. 
The  pretty  boy,  half  angered,  like  a  child, 
Would  pout,  then  laugh,  half  relishing  their  love. 

But  often,  wearied  of  their  close  pursuit, 
He  longed  to  wander  lone  and  unharassed  ; 
In  vain,  for  everywhere  the  roguish  spies 
Would  watch  his  path  and  haunt  his  flying  feet. 
Through  meadows,  fields,  and  forests  deep  and  dark, 
Still  grottoes,  lonely  dells,  high  mountain-tops, 
By  winding  rivers,  lily-covered  lakes, 
He  hunted  vainly  for  sweet  solitude. 

Among  the  nymphs  who  thus  would  follow  him, 
Poor  Echo  vexed  him  more  than  all  the  rest; 
And  while  his  cunning  thwarted  other  eyes, 
This  maiden  always  wandered  at  his  side. 
Full  oft  when  gathering  violets  in  the  dells, 
And  thinking  him  unseen,  he'd  quickly  start 
To  feel  a  burning  kiss  upon  his  lips, 
And  see  her  lithe  form  swiftly  vanishing ; 
Full  oft,  beneath  some  hoary  oak's  green  boughs, 
His  tired  head  resting  on  a  bank  of  moss, 
While  sleep  was  weaving  meshes  round  his  eyes, 
Would  hear  wild  words  of  deep  despairing  love, 
Sad,  soulful  sighs,  with  fond  reproaches  breathed, 
And  waking,  there  behold  two  great  dark  eyes 

2 


10  NARCISSUS. 

Bent  o'er  him,  and  a  passion-heaving  breast 
His  pillow,  that  had  first  been  mossy  earth. 

Again,  while  wandering  through  the  caverned  hills, 
Amid  the  shades  would  Echo  glide  along, 
Clasp  his  soft  hands  within  her  fingers  wan, 
The  hot  tears  trickling  down  her  wasted  cheeks, 
And  sob  and  murmur  of  his  cruelty. 

A  curse  bad  long  been  laid  on  Echo's  head 
By  jealous  Here,  heartless  in  her  hate. 
For  Echo  often  had  assisted  Zeus 
In  hiding  amorous  sins  from  Here's  eye, 
Till  being  seized  at  last,  confessed  her  guilt, 
And  felt  the  fury  of  the  queen  of  heaven. 
Perfidious  Zeus  refused  the  nymph  to  shield ; 
So  she  was  banished  from  the  gods'  abode, 
To  wander  lonely  o'er  the  waste  of  Earth, 
Where  rove  swift-fated  mortals  to  the  grave, 
And  Autumn  blights  the  glory  of  the  year; 
To  pine  amid  the  solemn  wilderness, 
And  long  for  high  Olympus,  lost  forever. 

And  Echo  was  not  fair  or  beautiful, 
But  plainest,  darkest  of  the  woodland  nymphs ; 
Her  form  had  faded  to  a  flitting  shade, 
Her  voice  had  pined  into  a  mournful  cry. 
Her  eyes  were  large,  dark  as  a  cavern's  gloom, 
Her  tresses  like  the  dusky  clouds  of  night ; 
Her  face  was  like  a  spectre,  and  her  sighs 
Like  bitter  moaning  of  the  winter  winds. 


NARCISSUS.  11 

Each    word   that   reached    her   would    her   tongue 

repeat, 

For  so  the  high  gods  cursed  her  for  her  sins. 
She  loved  the  shades,  the  dreary  solitudes, 
The  lonely  grottoes  and  steep  mountain-sides ; 
So  while  she  haunted  close  Narcissus'  path, 
She  dared  not  show  her  visage  openly, 
But  stole  behind  him  ever  stealthily, 
And  vanished  when  he  turned  to  speak  reproach, 
Or,  when  he  sat,  would  hide  in  thickets  near, 
And  gaze  upon  him  from  the  sullen  shades. 

Sometimes  Narcissus,  out  of  cruel  spite, 

Would  wound  her  heart  with  stinging  jealousy 

When  smiling  on  some  other  rival  nymph, 

Who  madly  kissed  or  fondly  folded  him. 

Her  dark  eyes  glittered  with  a  blasting  woe 

To  see  him  laughing  on  a  swelling  breast, 

Some  nymph  with  round  arms  close  embracing  him 

And  drinking  in  his  lovely  boyish  charms. 

But  oft  Narcissus  scorned  the  charms  of  all, 

And  on  this  morning  shunned  each  maiden's  face. 

II. 

The  first  who  met  him  as  he  tripped  along 
Was  one  who  hunted  there  with  Artemis, 
A  stately  maid  with  waving,  ebon  hair, 
With  cheeks  as  crimson  as  the  poppy's  bloom, 
With  dark  and  wondrous  splendor-streaming  eyes, 
And  queenly  brow  of  softest  olive  hue ; 


"«rt>; 


12  NARCISSUS. 

She  seemed  like  dusky  twilight,  gemmed  with  stars 
And  sprinkled  by  the  bleeding  heart  of  day. 
Her  pure  white  feet  with  golden  sandals  decked 
Were  stainless  and  as  soft  as  Eros'  wings ; 
Her  green  cloak  waving  in  the  morning  wind 
Betrayed  a  rounded  bosom  like  a  swan. 
Upon  her  back  a  bow  and  quiver  hung, 
Within  her  hand  a  sharp  and  shining  spear. 

"Is  this  Narcissus?"  said  she,  with  a  smile  ; 

"  I've  seen  thee  in  these  hills  but  once  before  ; 

Yet  one  so  beautiful  no  eye  forgets, 

And  so  rny  memory  cannot  be  at  fault. 

But  hark,  my  pretty  boy,  a  face  like  thine 

Will  often  carry  with  it  deep  despair  : 

The  nymphs  whose  love  is  scorned  are  plotting  now 

To  have  revenge  upon  thee.     This  I  know. 

For  on  Olympus  only  yester-eve 

I  saw  a  throng  of  these  with  Nemesis, 

The  stern- browed  spirit,  feared  of  gods  and  men, 

Whose  only  joy  is  marring  lives  like  thine. 

I  heard  them  murmur  at  thy  cruelty, 

Then  beg  dark  Nemesis  to  curse  thee,  boy, 

And  she,  I  think,  assented.     Watch  them  well, 

For  much  I  fear  some  evil  day  will  come." 

"  Was  Echo  there  ?     'Tis  like  her  spiteful  way ; 

I  always  hated  her,  and  always  shall." 

"  Thou  wrong'st  her,  foolish  boy ;  she  was  not  there  ; 

She  long  ago  was  driven  from  on  high. 

I  cannot  tell  thee  more,  for  hark,  oh,  hark ! 


NARCISSUS.  13 

The  deep-rnouthed  hounds  are  baying  through  the 

woods, 

In  hot  pursuit  of  some  affrighted  stag. 
Ye  gods !     My  heart  leaps  in  exulting  joy, 
And  all  my  veins  are  tingling  for  the  chase. 
Farewell,  I  follow  swiftly  to  the  hunt." 

"  What  thanks,  fair  goddess,  shall  I  offer  thee?— 
But  yet,  alas !  I  have  no  gift  of  worth." 

"  A  gift,  thou  foolish  boy  ?     Give  me  a  kiss ; 
For  kisses  from  a  young  man's  amorous  mouth 
Will  buy  from  woman  more  than  gems  and  gold. 
Another  kiss!     Another!     Clasp  again  ! 
Just  one  more  kiss,  Narcissus,  then  I  go ! 
My  mistress  would  reproach  me  for  this  act, 
But  for  its  joy  I'd  bear  her  frown  forever. 
Beware,  O  youth.     Echo  thou  needst  not  fear ; 
She  loves  thee  as  the  banished  god  loves  heaven, 
But  would  not  harm  thee  to  regain  her  throne." 

Narcissus  stood  stunned  with  a  curdling  fear. 
The  smile  died  on  his  quivering,  ashen  lips, 
His  heart  stood  still,  his  youthful  blood  grew  cold. 
"  Why  should   they  wish  to  harm  me  ?"   muttered 

he; 

"Am  I  not  free  to  turn  away  from  them  ? 
Shall  I  be  blamed  because  I  love  them  not? 
Shall  I  be  blamed  because  they  pine  for  me?" 

Soon  turned  he  on  his  heels,  and  musing  went 
Along  the  brook,  then  sat  beneath  an  elm. 


14  NARCISSUS. 

He  paused  awhile,  then,  growing  restless,  turned 

And  lay  upon  his  back,  while  his  fair  locks 

Were  pillowed  on  a  bank  of  feathery  ferns. 

But  then  the  sun,  arising  high  in  heaven, 

Sent  through  the  parted  boughs  a  tiny  beam 

That  fell  upon  his  eyes  and  made  him  wince, 

So  that  he  leaped  up,  restless  and  annoyed. 

Soon  sitting  down  again,  he  dipt  his  feet 

Within  the  crystal  waters  just  below, — 

Those    beauteous    feet,  more    soft    and    sweet   and 

white 

Than  all  the  spotless  water-lilies  there. 
The  wavelets  kissed  their  blue  veins  delicate, 
And  fondled  them,  and  babbled  petting  sounds. 
While  silvery  minnows,  growing  bold  at  last, 
Began  to  nibble  at  the  tiny  toes, 
Which  tingled  till  they  blushed  like  rose-buds  pink, 
When  he,  to  rout  the  minnows,  shook  his  foot, 
Splashing  the  water  into  foaming  spray, 
And  sent  them  scampering  up  the  brook  in  fright, 
To  peep  back  at  him  through  the  water-cress, 
And  wonder  at  his  roguish,  ringing  laugh. 

He  gazed  upon  his  image  in  the  brook, 

And  marvelled  at  his  own  enchanting  charms  ; 

His  cheeks  like  ruby  wines,  blue  eyes,  bright  hair, 

The  rounded,  flower-like  beauty  of  his  form. 

He  blushed  to  see  his  utter  nakedness 

Arid  that  which  mortals  seek  to  hide  from  sight, 

But  felt  a  boyish  pride  and  secret  joy 

To  feel  and  see  his  manhood  drawing  near. 


NARCISSUS.  15 

He  knew  no  maiden  could  resist  his  beauty, 
And  in  his  heart  exulted  at  the  thought. 
"  I'll  scorn  them  all,"  he  said  unto  himself, 
"And  drive  them  mad  to  get  one  stingy  smile. 
I'll  rule  them,  chained  before  me  by  their  love, 
And  they  shall  long  in  vain  to  kiss  my  feet." 

Then  turning  round,  he  saw  Leona  there, 

With  jealous  passion  burning  in  her  eyes ; 

For  much  she  craved  the  sweetness  of  his  charms, 

But  hated  him  because  his  heart  was  cold. 

"  Leona !"  faltered  he ;  "  art  spying  still  ? 
I  am  aweary  of  thy  hateful  eyes." 

"  Narcissus  !"  cried  she,  quickly,  "  I  am  mad, — 

Mad  with  fierce  love  and  flaming  jealousy. 

Beware !     Beware !    lest   thou    shouldst    force    my 

soul 
To  bring  destruction  on  thy  helpless  head." 

"  Leona,  I  defy  thy  silly  threats. 

I  am  the  son  of  water-god  and  nymph : 

Free  I  was  born,  and  free  will  ever  be. 

I  am  immortal ;  what  have  I  to  fear? 

For  Jove  himself  can  never  take  my  life, 

And  thou  art  but  a  weak  and  wandering  sprite." 

"  I  know,  Narcissus,  thou  couldst  never  die, 
But,  selfish  creature,  I  may  curse  thee  still ; 
I  may  call  down  such  anguish  and  despair 


16  NARCISSUS. 

That  life  itself  would  be  an  agony. 

Be  mine,  Narcissus !  hearken  to  my  prayer ! 

Be  mine,  or  I  will  curse  thee  and  myself!" 

"Begone!     Begone!"  he  cried,  impatiently. 

And  turned  his  eyes  in  anger  from  her  face, 

Looking  toward  the  woods  beyond  the  brook. 

A  deadly  silence  seemed  to  shroud  the  place, 

And  all  the  forest  huddled  close  with  fear. 

He  turned  around ;  Leona's  face  had  fled, 

But  oh,  the  spectre  there  before  his  eyes ! 

For  just  a  pace  beyond  him  stood  a  shape 

Whose  awful  presence  curdled  all  his  blood. 

It  was  a  woman  with  a  sweeping  robe 

That  shrouded  her  in  ghastly  spectral  folds. 

In  her  right  hand  she  held  a  scorpion  whip, 

And  in  her  left  a  leafy  branch  of  ash. 

Her  face  was  livid,  pale,  and  pinched  and  wan, 

With  burning  eyes  beneath  her  haggard  brows, 

Like  fiery  coals  in  gray  volcanic  cones. 

He   could   not    move,   as   though   his    limbs    were 

stone, 

His  brow  was  damp  with  cold  and  clammy  dews. 
She  gazed  upon  him  sternly  ;  then  she  said, 
"Thyself  shalt  bring  a. curse  upon  thyself. 
He  who  loves  not  another  loves  himself, 
And  he  shall  crave  in  vain  to  ease  his  soul ; 
True  love  drinks  life-blood  from  another  heart, 
But  selfish  love  doth  gnaw  upon  his  own. 
Farewell !  thy  choice  is  made,  and  thou  shalt  find 
In  loving  self  thou  graspest  at  a  shade." 


NARCISSUS.  17 

III. 

She  glided  from  him  like  a  ghost  of  night, 

And  glimmered  dimly  through  the  branching  boughs 

Till  lost  to  sight  amid  the  forest  gloom. 

Narcissus  shivered,  for  the  breeze  had  chilled, 
And  trembling  birds  for  fear  had  ceased  to  sing. 
The  nymphs,  aroused,  had  fled  before  her  face. 
The  startled,  shuddering  trees  with  horror  moaned, 
Like  huddled  cattle,  when,  on  tainted  air, 
With  horns  erect,  eyes  starting,  mad  with  fear, 
And  lowing,  groaning  deep  and  piteously, 
From  altar  stones  they  smell  their  comrade's  blood. 

Again  he  turned  and  gazed  into  the  brook, 
And  saw  himself  reflected  in  its  waves. 
Again  he  saw  his  sweet  lips,  glowing  cheeks, 
His  azure  eyes,  his  rippling  golden  hair, 
His  rounded,  dimpled  arms,  his  dainty  feet, 
And  all  the  naked  wonders  of  his  form. 
Then  what  a  world  of  wistful  agony 
Came  o'er  his  soul  while  gazing  in  the  brook ! 
Oh,  how  he  loved  that  shadow  of  himself! 
Oh,  how  he  longed  to  clasp  it  in  his  arms ! 
Oh,  how  he  longed  to  kiss  its  rich  red  lips  ! 
What  eager  yearning  swayed  his  bounding  heart! 
What  flaming  passion  fired  his  leaping  blood ! 
Such  deep  desire,  such  maddening  thrills  of  love, — 
A  heaven  of  bliss,  but  just  beyond  his  reach ! 
His  pulses  throbbing  wildly  to  his  head, 


18  NARCISSUS. 

O'ercame  him  like  a  fierce,  voluptuous  dream. 
He  sought  to  kiss  his  own  lips  in  despair, 
His  own  breast  struggled  vainly  to  embrace. 
And  then  the  deep  eyes  of  the  shadow  there 
Seemed  begging  him  to  share  their  languorous  sweets. 
Its  lips  seemed  longing  to  be  pressed  to  his, 
Its  arms  inviting  to  their  swoonful  realm. 

Filled  with  his  pain,  he  could  resist  no  more, 
But  leaped  to  clasp  the  shadow  to  his  heart. 
In  vain,  in  vain !     A  splash,  a  chilly  thrill, 
And  then  the  shadow  fled  before  his  eyes ! 
He  struggled  with  the  icy,  mantling  waves, 
Clung  to  the  bushy  bank  and  climbed  to  shore, 
But  cold  and  shivering  with  the  trickling  drops. 
Again  he  looked  upon  the  cruel  brook 
That  now  had  cursed  him  with  his  own  fair  face, 
And  once  again  he  saw  the  shadow  sweet 
Gaze  fondly  at  him  from  the  mirror  there. 

No  lover  ever  longed  to  clasp  his  love 

With  half  such  fervor  as  Narcissus  did. 

But  yet,  alas  !  that  passion  could  be  fed 

On  rounded  beauties  of  the  loved  one's  breast, 

And  lulled  to  sleep  by  blissful  blandishments. 

All  others  who  have  loved,  with  amorous  play, 

Have  felt  at  last  their  passion  satisfied, 

Have  drunk  the  bubbling  cup  of  Cupid's  joy, 

And  cooled  the  raging  fever  of  desire. 

But  his  love  was  a  fire  with  naught  to  quench, 

A  sleepless  craving  that  had  naught  to  lull ; 


NARCISSUS.  19 

He  hungered  for  a  fruit  he  could  not  taste, 
He  thirsted  for  a  cup  he  could  not  quaff. 

The  lover  who  hath  not  his  love  returned 

Hath  yet  the  sympathy  of  every  heart, 

Hath  others,  placed  like  him,  to  share  his  grief, 

And  feels  ennobled  by  his  sad,  sweet  pain. 

The  guilty  lovers,  scorned  by  all  the  world, 

Still  find  a  happier  world  within  themselves. 

But  oh,  the  horror  of  unnatural  love, 

Beyond  the  sympathy  of  every  soul ! 

With  no  one  sharing  in  that  agony, 

His  own  cheeks  seared  with  tears  of  baffled  shame ! 

And  then,  again,  he  felt  such  agony 
He  leaped  once  more  amid  the  brook's  cold  waves. 
Ah,  still  in  vain !     A  splash,  a  chilly  thrill, 
And  once  again  the  shape  eluded  him ! 
Then  deep  despair  fell  o'er  him  like  a  shroud, 
And  like  a  child,  lost  in  the  night,  he  sobbed. 
The  twilight,  like  a  priestess,  crowned  with  stars, 
Draped  Day's  fair  ringlets  in  the  veil  of  night, 
Stabbed  his  white  bosom,  lit  his  funeral  pyre, 
And  with  her  victim  died  in  crimson  flames. 
The  swallow  glided  to  his  cave  to  sleep; 
The  wild  dove  fluttered  to  her  peaceful  nest ; 
The  shepherd  drove  his  thirsty  flocks  to  drink, 
Then  led  them,  bleating,  to  their  nightly  fold  ; 
The  new  moon,  like  a  harvest  sickle,  shone 
Through   golden    grains   and   flowers   in    fields   of 
heaven : 


20  NARCISSUS. 

The  gentle  shadows  gathered  in  the  woods, 
And  laid  kind  hands  on  Nature's  dreaming  soul ; 
But  still  Narcissus  lay  beside  the  brook, 
Longing  to  perish  with  the  hapless  day, 
Whose  curse  had  pierced  him  with  an  agony 
Unsoothed  and  cureless  by  the  balms  of  night. 

IV. 

The  weary  days  lagged  on  like  crippled  churls, 

And  sweet  Narcissus  withered  in  despair. 

His  blue  eyes  faded  with  their  sleepless  cares, 

Like  desert  skies  with  parching  fervor  wan  ; 

His  crimson  lips  were  mutely  quivering 

Like  flaming  dead  leaves  in  the  autumn  winds; 

His  dimpled  cheeks  were  pinched,  and  blanched  and 

thin, 

Like  great  white  roses  fading  day  by  day ; 
His  graceful  step  came  to  a  weary  halt 
Like  stiffened  lameness  of  the  wounded  doe. 
Hour  after  hour  he  gazed  upon  the  brook, 
And  the  big  tears  dropped  in  its  azure  waves. 
But  still  he  lived  while  ever  loathing  life, 
And  begging  heaven  to  be  allowed  to  die. 
He  gazed  in  anguish  at  the  ghostly  face 
Which  in  despair  looked  up  from  depths  below, 
With  great  eyes  mournful,  outstretched  bony  hands 
That  beckoned  to  him  like  an  aspen's  leaves. 

One  day  while  lying  on  a  bank  of  moss 
He  heard  a  rustle, — Echo's  stealthy  step. 
"Narcissus!"  said  she  sweetly  in  his  ear; 


NARCISSUS.  21 

He  turned  toward  her,  bursting  into  tears. 

No  longer  did  he  seek  to  flee  her  face, 

But  longed  to  mingle  bitter  tears  with  hers. 

"  Narcissus,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  share  thy  grief, 

My  woful  heart  shall  ever  throb  with  thine. 

Long   have   I    watched    thee,   feared   to    come    to 

thee, 

But  thou,  I  know,  wilt  never  drive  me  hence. 
Thy  hopeless  love  consumes  thine  own  sad  heart, 
And  mine  upon  another's  cast  away; 
Our  souls  are  bound  together  by  a  bond 
Of  mutual,  never-changing  misery." 
He  wept,  then  laid  his  head  upon  her  breast, 
And  soon  with  weeping  lulled  himself  to  sleep. 

What  bounding,  leaping  throbs  of  wild  delight, 
What  dreamy,  balmy,  soothing  spells  of  bliss, 
Filled  all  her  soul  while  clasping  him  to  heart ! 
She  softly  smoothed  his  thin,  dishevelled  locks, 
And  tenderly  she  stroked  his  pallid  cheeks. 
She  would  have  given  the  treasures  of  the  sea 
For  one  soft  pressure  'gainst  that  dreaming  face, 
And  all  the  gold  of  all  the  tribes  of  earth 
For  one  strong  clasping  of  those  tender  arms, 
And  all  the  glories  of  the  starry  skies 
For  one  warm  kiss  from  that  enchanting  mouth, — 
But  she  dared  not  for  fear  of  waking  him ! 
Ah,  hapless  hearts,  that  beat  together  now, 
Yet  parted  by  a  universe  of  tears  ! 
Ah,  hapless  souls,  each  craving  for  the  same, 
And  each  forever  doomed  to  pine  in  vain ! 


22  NARCISSUS. 

Ah,  would  that  Fate  had  bound  them  both  together 
Like  bride  and  bridegroom  on  their  nuptial  night ! 

Soon  through  the  woods  was  heard  the  bay  of  hounds, 

And  then  the  huntress  nymph  of  Artemis 

Came  tripping  down  the  pathway  to  the  brook, 

The  hounds  still  yelping  as  she  moved  along. 

Her  naked  breasts  were  heaving  joyously 

Like  water-lilies  on  the  rocking  waves, 

While  silvery  laughter  fluttered  on  her  lips. 

Her  right  arm  bore  the  skin  of  spotted  pard 

Torn  warm  and  bleeding  from  the  victim's  back. 

She  oped  her  lips  to  cry  out  in  delight, 

And  tell  poor  Echo  of  the  morning's  sport; 

But  Echo  beckoned  her  to  tread  tiptoe, 

And  speak  in  whispers  that  he  might  not  wake. 

"  Is  this  Narcissus  ?"  asked  the  huntress  maid  : 

"  Oh,  what  a  fearful,  wasting  change  is  here  ! 

Once  I  beheld  him  like  a  milk-white  fawn, 

But  stricken  now  and  lying  down  to  die ; 

Once  I  beheld  him  like  a  lotus  flower, 

The  peerless  swelling  blossom  wonderful, 

Then  budding  in  unearthly  loveliness, 

Now  lying  withered  in  the  sultry  dust ; 

Once  I  beheld  him  like  the  round,  full  moon, 

In  naked  beauty  rising  on  the  night, 

With  mellow,  golden  glory  in  his  orb, 

O'er  lovers  true  in  odorous  gardens  sweet, 

But  now,  as  gaunt  and  haggard  as  its  wane, 

When  hanging  shattered  blanched  and  thin  and  wan, 


NARCISSUS.  23 

Above  the  bare  boughs  of  a  blasted  wood, 
He  sinks  to  perish  in  the  Western  wilds." 

Poor  Echo  could  not  answer  for  her  tears. 
The  huntress  gazed  in  silence  at  the  hounds 
Laving  their  gray  flanks  in  the  crystal  stream, 
Lapping  sweet  waters  with  their  jagged  jaws, 
And  shaking  dew-drops  from  their  hanging  ears. 

Then  said  the  huntress,  starting,  "  I  forgot, 

In  speaking  of  Narcissus'  deep  despair, 

To  tell  thee  that  which  surely  brings  thee  joy. 

Thou  dost  remember  that,  on  yester-eve, 

Down  through  the  Western  scarlet  skies  of  flame 

O 

A  spotless  swan  came  fluttering  to  thy  feet, 
A  cruel  arrow  rankling  in  his  breast. 
Then  thou,  with  kind  hands,  didst  remove  the  dart, 
So  that  the  swan  arose  and  soared  away. 
Know  thou  that  swan  belonged  to  Artemis, 
And  she  is  grateful  to  thee,  hapless  nymph. 
She  bids  me  tell  thee  beg  one  boon  of  her, 
Speak  the  one  wish  that  liest  next  thy  heart, 
And  thou  shalt  see  at  once  thy  dream  come  true." 

Echo  at  first  by  this  was  so  amazed 

She  scarce  made  answer  to  the  kindly  nymph, 

But  overjoyed,  at  last  shed  floods  of  tears, 

Gave  heartfelt  thanks,  and  cried  out  in  delight, 

"  Oh,  I  shall  now  to  heavenly  scenes  return. 

Long  have  I  wandered  through  these  earthly  wilds, 

And  yearned  again  to  see  my  happy  home. 


24  NARCISSUS. 

How  often  when  chill  autumn  filled  the  skies 
With  dead  leaves  flying  from  the  haggard  trees, 
How  often  when  the  winter  winds  on  high 
Bore  flocks  of  cranes  towards  the  Southern  seas, 
How  often  when  the  mortals  passed  me  by 
In  funeral  trains,  with  some  enshrouded  form, 
How  often,  in  those  days,  I  craved  for  thee, 
Olympus  blest,  free  from  decay  and  death ! 
I  long  to  see  thy  banquet-halls  again, 
And  take  the  ruby  wine  from  Hebe's  hands, 
I  long  to  see  dear  Iris  smile  once  more, 
And  spend  sweet  converse  on  the  days  gone  by, 
To  gaze  on  youthful  Eros'  face,  and  drink 
Immortal  glory  from  his  wondrous  eyes !" 

But  Fate  would  hearken  not  to  Echo's  prayer, 

And  gathered  other  woes  to  wound  her  soul, 

For  then  Narcissus  murmured  in  his  dreams, 

"  Oh,  would  that  I  could  die  !  but  I  cannot ; 

The  gods  can  ne'er  immortal  life  destroy. 

Oh,  would  that  heaven,  in  pity  on  my  grief, 

Might  change  me  to  some  painless,  dreamless  flower !" 

Echo  seemed  stricken  with  a  deadly  wound, 
And  then  grew  still  and  rigid  as  a  stone. 
A  moment  like  a  long  age  slowly  passed, 
And  then  she  said,  "  Will  kindly  Artemis 
Grant  more  than  one  wish  unto  hapless  me  ? 
May  I  return  to  heaven  and  save  him  too  ?" 

'•  Alas  !"  the  nymph  cried  ;  "  it  can  never  be  ; 
For  jealous  Here  hates  thee,  stricken  maid. 


NARCISSUS.  25 

My  mistress  scarce  could  gain  consent  from  Zeus, 

Who  hath  betrayed  thee  to  his  furious  queen, 

To  let  thee  have  the  granting  of  one  wish, 

And  much  great  Here  murmured  when  'twas  known 

That  this  one  favor  was  bestowed  on  thee. 

Thou  mayest  choose  to  help  Narcissus  there, 

But  if  thou  dost,  Olympus  shalt  not  see. 

The  curse  upon  Narcissus  cannot  die 

As  long  as  life  remains  within  his  breast, 

And  as  he  is  immortal,  he  must  change 

His  present  shape,  and  live  another  life. 

He  must  be  buried  as  the  mortals  are, 

And  from  his  grave  a  flower  will  soon  ascend 

To  take  the  life  of  him  now  in  your  arms. 

But  that  would  be  a  special  boon  of  heaven, 

And  the  great  gods  would  do  no  more  for  thee." 

"  Ob,  no  !"  cried  Echo,  "  do  not  change  his  form  ! 
How  can  I  bear  to  see  my  darling  love 
Changed  to  the  lifeless  beauty  of  a  plant? 
Oh,  spare  him,  spare  him!  pity,  pity  me! 
'Twill  bury  me  forever  in  despair!" 

"  But,"  said  the  other,  "  if  he  changes  not, 
His  soul  must  writhe  in  never-dying  pain." 

uAh!"  Echo  cried,  "shall  I  be  doomed  forever 
On  cheerless  Earth  to  roam  in  banishment, 
And  ne'er  again  behold  Olympus  blest  ? 
Or  must  I,  hapless  maiden,  doom  my  love 
To  sink  forever  in  the  dismal  grave  ? 

3 


26  NARCISSUS. 

What  countless  ages  shall  I  wander  here, 
To  see  earth  wither  in  the  myriad  years, 
Behold  her  cities  ruined,  desolate, 
And  generations  pass  away  and  die  ! 
To  think  that  I  must  tread  those  endless  years, 
Amid  these  deserts  of  decay  and  death, 
Without  my  love,  the  idol  of  my  soul, 
And  live,  still  live,  alone,  alone,  alone !" 

11  Still,"  said  the  huntress,  "  he  must  either  change 
Or  live  a  life  of  deathless  agony." 

"I  love  him,"  said  poor  Echo,  shedding  tears, — 
"  Let  it  be  so  :  his  good  shall  be  my  prayer ! 
I  choose  not  to  return  to  heaven  with  thee, 
But  beg  thy  mistress  to  relieve  his  woes !" 
The  huntress  glided  from  her  through  the  woods, 
But  heard  behind  the  piteous  sound  of  sobs ; 
Turned,  and  beheld  sad  Echo  clasp  her  love 
As  some  fond  mother  hugs  her  dying  child, 
Speak  words  of  burning  love  within  his  ears, 
Then  kiss  his  sleeping  face  a  thousand  times ; 
And  as  the  nymph  towards  Olympus  soared, 
She  heard,  blurred  by  the  distance,  dreary  moans, 
Till  rnisty  clouds  obscured  her  view  of  earth, 
And  rushing  winds  stilled  all  its  dreamy  hum. 


y. 

Once  more  the  morning,  like  a  gorgeous  rose, 
Bursts  into  blossom  in  a  field  of  fire ; 


NARCISSUS.  27 

Once  more  her  white  steeds,  shaking  silvery  manes, 

Leap  forth,  caparisoned  in  blue  and  gold; 

Once  more  her  handmaids  wreathe  the  clouds  with 

flowers, 

From  crystal  goblets  sprinkle  ruby  wines; 
Once  7nore  the  pale  moon  in  their  veils  of  light 
Is  shrouded  like  a  dead  bride  for  the  tomb  ; 
Once  more  her  sweet  kiss  thrills  the  dewy  stars, 
Till  all  those  orbs  celestial  faint  with  love, 
Then  melt  their  glories  on  her  milk-white  breasts, 
And  perish  in  the  splendor  of  her  hair. 

But  as  the  light  fell  on  Narcissus'  brow 
Its  rosy  flame  tinged  livid  hues  of  death. 
The  dryads  swung  amid  the  leafy  boughs, 
The  water-nymphs  arose  above  the  waves, 
The  sylphs  flew  round  like  jewelled  butterflies. 
And  zephyrs  hummed  like  golden-winged  bees. 
But  Echo  heeded  not  those  beauteous  forms, 
And  saw  naught  save  her  loved  one  dying  there. 

His  head  lay  pillowed  on  her  tender  breast 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  a  hoary  oak, 
His  breath  was  coming  slower,  slower  still, 
His  eyes  were  ever  growing  dim  and  dark. 
He  had  been  told  how  Artemis  had  given 
This  one  boon  to  her  lonely,  aching  heart. 
Oft  had  he  thanked  her  for  remembering  him, 
But  never  thought  what  sacrifice  she  made. 
Alas  !  how  often  doth  unselfish  love 
See  all  its  tears  unnoticed  or  forgot  ! 


OF 


28  NARCISSUS. 

"  One  boon  I  beg,"  sobbed  Echo,  timidly ; 
"  Wilt  thou  kiss  me,  my  love,  before  thou  diest  ?" 
He  put  his  thin  white  arms  around  her  neck, 
And  faintly  smiled  upon  her  pallid  face ; 
He  held  his  fevered,  quivering  lips  to  hers, 
And  fell  back  fainting  in  her  trembling  arms ; 
Then,  sinking  slowly,  bowed  his  golden  head, 
And  with  one  lingering,  piteous  moan,  he  died. 

A  curdling  cry  pierced  through  the  startled  air, 
And  woful  Echo  clasped  a  leaden  corpse. 

The  pensive  Evening  trod  the  Western  hills, 

Her  saffron  mantle  glowing  in  the  skies 

Like  yellow  foliage  of  the  autumn  woods. 

Through  silent  dells  and  lonely  mountain  groves 

Her  dusky  shades,  like  mourners,  crept  along. 

Then  all  the  shepherds  of  the  neighboring  vales, 

And  all  the  lovely  mortal  maidens  there, 

Came  gathering  round  to  look  into  his  face, 

Soon  to  be  hid  beneath  the  chilly  clods. 

And    maiden    hands    brought    many    a    beauteous 

flower 

To  scatter  o'er  his  sad,  untimely  grave, 
White,  azure,  pink,  and  purple  hyacinths, 
With  valley-lilies,  frail  and  delicate, 
And  crocus-blossoms,  pansies  rich  and  dark, 
Soft  buttercups  and  creamy  daffodils. 
The  modest  white  and  purple  violets, 
New-opened  daisies,  with  their  hearts  of  gold, 
Sweet  cowslips,  and  primroses  gemmed  with  dew. 


NARCISSUS.  29 

But  he  was  lovelier  than  those  beauteous  flowers, 
And  sweeter  than  their  faint  and  odorous  breath. 
His  soft  white  eyelids,  closed  for  evermore, 
Now  hid  the  azure  of  his  dreaming  eyes; 
His  pallid  cheeks  lay  slumbering  calm  and  still ; 
The  sweet  young  dimples  slept  around  his  mouth  ; 
His  soft  white  hands  were  folded  on  his  heart, 
Like  two  sweet  doves  dead  in  one  little  nest; 
Pure  water-lilies  wreathed  his  golden  hair, 
And  rich  musk-roses  bloomed  above  his  breast. 

They  buried  him  in  damp  and  cheerless  earth, 
To  be  the  prey  of  death's  corrupting  hand, 
And  every  clod  that  fell  upon  him  there 
Dropped  like  a  mountain  on  poor  Echo's  heart. 

Months  passed  away,  and  then  a  pallid  plant 
Arose  and  blossomed  on  his  lonely  grave; 
His  soul  had  passed  within  that  tender  flower, 
And  even  now  it  bears  Narcissus'  name. 

Then  Echo  glided  from  the  sight  of  men. 
And  wandered  through  the  trackless  wilderness, 
O'er  lonely  valleys,  mountains  high  and  still, 
Forever  weeping,  calling  out  his  name. 
She  pined  away,  grew  pale  and  paler  still, 
Then  flitted  like  the  shadow  of  a  curse, 
Until  at  last  her  voice  alone  was  left 
To  answer  madly  every  vagrant  sound. 
Great  nations  perish,  but  she  cannot  die ; 
Vast  empires  crumble,  but  she  lingers  still. 
The  gray  gods  in  Olympus'  lofty  halls 


30  ORPHEUS  AND    THE  SIRENS. 

From  jewelled  goblets  quaff  their  nectar  still ; 
She,  unforgiven,  never  can  return, 
Her  name  forgotten  by  them  long  ago. 
And  so  she  wanders  ever,  suffering  still 
Undying  anguish  and  undying  love. 
1887. 


OEPHEUS   AND    THE    SIRENS. 

THE  summer  day  waned  o'er  the  peaceful  sea, 
Whose   vast   expanse   stretched   shoreless   far    and 

near ; 

The  pale  blue  sky,  flecked  by  no  wandering  clouds, 
Shone  softly  with  the  mellow  glow  of  eve  ; 
Its  depths  extended  like  eternity, 
And  seemed  to  mingle  with  the  boundless  waves. 
All  day  the  weary  mariners  had  gazed 
To  gain  a  prospect  of  some  land,  whose  coves 
Might  be  a  haven  for  their  sea-worn  ship; 
But  still  above  and  all  around  was  naught 
Save  dreamy  skies  that  hung  o'er  slumbering  seas. 
The  evening  slowly  waned,  the  sun  sank  low 
Above  the  waste  of  waters  in  the  west ; 
And  then  behold !  between  them  and  the  sun 
A  dark  rock  rose  from  out  the  briny  waste ; 
Like  to  a  towering  cloud  of  night  it  seemed, 
Where  blent  the  sapphire  sky  and  emerald  sea. 
Then  Mopsus  spoke,  gray-haired  Thessalian  seer: 
"  Beware,  beware  !  it  is  the  Sirens'  isle!" 
So  Jason  cried,  "  Turn,  turn  the  vessel's  course ! 


ORPHEUS  AND    THE  SIRENS.  31 

Death  waits  us  there ;  our  life  depends  on  flight. 
Toil  with  your  might,  my  oarsmen,  for  our  hopes 
Must  now  rely  upon  your  sinewy  arms." 
The    oarsmen    strained     their    limbs    with     giant 

strength, 

Their  dark  eyes  glittered  with  a  desperate  hope, 
Their  brows  were  lined  with  meshes  of  dark  frowns, 
Their  thews  were  twisted  like  an  adder's  coils. 
But  all  for  naught !  some  hapless  fate  had  drawn 
Their  ship  within  the  current  gliding  swift 
Towards  the  jagged  rock  of  certain  death. 
But  Orpheus  spoke,  the  golden-throated  king,     . 
Whose  tones  were  sweeter  than  harmonious  spheres: 
"  Since  might  hath  failed,  my  music  now  shall  win. 
Oft  have  the  warbling  birds  at  dawn  of  day 
Ceased  all  their  notes  to  listen  to  my  strains ; 
Oft  have  the  woodland  dryads  stilled  their  songs, 
Abashed  before  the  sweetness  of  my  lyre ; 
Apollo  hearkens  to  the  melody, 
And  merry  Hermes  pauses  in  his  flight ; 
The  growling  leopard  spares  his  trembling  prey, 
The  bright-eyed  eagle  frees  the  fluttering  dove; 
Moved  by  those  liquid  notes,  the  hard  rocks  nod, 
And  leafy  trees  dance  when  the  winds  are  still." 

Lo !  on  the  summit  of  the  vaulting  rock, 
See  where  the  Siren  braids  her  golden  hair ! 
See  how  the  zephyrs  wave  the  shining  strands, 
And  clothe  her  bosom  in  a  radiant  maze  ! 
Now  see  her  soft  arms  clasp  the  magic  lyre, 
The  spotless  neck  bend  o'er  its  silver  strings, 


32  ORPHEUS  AND    THE  SIRENS. 

Till,  like  the  treasure  of  the  swan's  full  nest, 
'Tis  pressed  upon  her  rounded,  heaving  breast. 
And  now  the  sun  doth  kiss  the  sky  good-night, 
Until  her  cheeks  blush  into  rosy  flame. 
The  brown  crags  flush  amid  the  ruddy  glow, 
The  Siren's  fair  form  blooms  with  ruby  tints, 
As  white-winged  clouds  at  coming  of  the  dawn 
Are   wreathed  with    roses    plucked    from    heavenly 
bowers. 

High  on  that  rock  the  beauteous  sisters  stood, 

Their  lily  fingers  twined  in  tender  clasp, 

Their  rounded  shoulders  touching,  while  their  breasts 

Heaved  'gainst  each  other  in  a  sweet  embrace ; 

Their  soft  bare  feet  gleamed  like  narcissus  flowers. 

The  gazing  sailors  shuddered  when  they  saw 

Pale,  grinning  skeletons  strewn  at  those  feet. 

But  soon  their  red  lips  budded  forth  in  song, 

As  sweet  young  blossoms  open  in  perfume ; 

So  all  the  wide  sea  was  entranced,  and  all 

The  sleeping  waves  awoke  and  laughed  for  joy. 

The  regal  sun,  enchanted  in  his  course, 

Stood  still  above  the  mighty  world  of  waves, 

And  filled  the  darkest  depths  with  ruddy  light ; 

The  sunburnt  sailor's  face  was  lit  with  joy, 

And  each  dim  eye  flashed  into  starry  flame. 

Then  from  the  Sirens'  lips  came  melting  tones, 

Like  honey-dew  that  drops  from  opening  flowers: 


ORPHEUS  AND    THE  SIRENS.  33 

AGLAIOPHEME. 

"  Come,  bravest  of  heroes!  with  passion  I  yearn 

To  clasp  you  and  fold  you  in  blissful  embrace, 
To  greet  you  with  songs  on  your  happy  return, 

And  cover  with  kisses  each  weary,  worn  face. 
Long,  long  have  I  waited  and  watched  for  your  sails, 

Still  yearning  and  pining  and  breathing  sweet  sighs  ; 
Desert  the  dark  ocean,  its  rocks  and  its  gales, 

And  drink  in  the  glory  of  love-lighted  eyes." 

THLEXIEPEA. 

"Oh,  come  to  me,  lovers!  repose  on  this  heart! 

And  swoon  on  Love's  pillow  and  quaff  of  his  wine! 
Come,  waver  no  longer!  ye  shall  not  depart, 

My  arms  shall  forever  around  you  entwine ; 
My  bosom  is  fairer  than  blossoming  bowers, 

And  warmer  and  softer  than  nightingale's  nest; 
My  kisses  are  sweeter  than  honey-gemmed  flowers, 

More  witching  than  nectar  the  thrill  of  my  breast." 

The  liquid  harmony  filled  all  the  air, 

As  mellow  sunlight  fills  the  summer  sky ; 

The  waves  were  babbling  to  the  murmuring  winds, 

As  lisping  infants  to  their  mothers'  songs. 

But  all  the  mariners  were  mad  with  love, 

And  drunk  with  brightness  of  the  Sirens'  eyes; 

They  laughed  and  murmured  with  a  maniac  joy, 

And  sought  to  leap  into  the  sea  below, 

So  that  they  might  at  last  find  rest  from  toil, 

And  steep  their  senses  in  the  wine  of  love. 


34  ORPHEUS  AND    THE  SIRENS. 

But  Orpheus  stood  unmoved,  as  if  he  scorned 

To  be  enslaved  by  passion's  fierce  desire. 

He  sang  and  played,  and  lo !  the  sea-waves  rose, 

And  dashed  in  playful  joy  about  his  feet; 

The  gray-winged  sea-birds  perched  upon  the  mast, 

The  bright-hued  dolphin  waved  his  glittering  tail, 

The  purple  sea-weed  rocked  from  side  to  side, 

The  blue-eyed  naiads  rose  from  coral  bowers, 

Their  round  cheeks  gleaming  through  the  emerald 

surge, 

The  black  sea-snake  uncurled  his  monstrous  coils, 
Made  tame  and  harmless  by  his  wondrous  harp. 
Oh,  would  that  words  had  life,  and  verses  souls, 
To  give  a  feeble  image  of  his  song ! 

ORPHEUS. 
"Brave  heroes!  shall  our  honor  dim  with  rust? 

Shall  all  our  well-won  laurels  droop  and  fade  ? 
Shall  virtue's  white  star  fall  into  the  dust  ? 

Shall  we  retire  to  ignominious  shade? 
Fame's  clarion  voice  calls  to  us  in  our  shame, 

And  sings  of  grander  diadems  to  win ; 
What  warrior  here  forgets  his  glorious  name, 

And  gives  an  ear  to  words  of  gilded  sin  ? 

"Awake!  arise!  death  poisons  all  the  air; 

Behold  the  ghastly  skulls  that  strew  yon  shore ! 
New  triumphs  we  should  win,  new  dangers  dare, 

And  wondrous  isles  and  trackless  seas  explore. 
Think  of  the  golden  fleece  our  arms  have  won ! 

Think  of  the  mighty  giants  we  have  slain ! 


ORPHEUS  AND    THE  SIRENS.  35 

Away !  our  wondrous  deeds  are  not  yet  done  ! 
Elysium's  bowers  shall  be  our  final  gain  !" 


AGLAIOPHEME. 

"O  heroes,  with  passion  my  dreams  are  afire, 

En  wreathing  my  fancies  with  flowers  of  flame ; 
My  pulses  are  throbbing  like  strands  of  a  lyre, 

And  leaping  with  raptures  no  mortal  can  name. 
Earth's  maidens  can  never  reward  with  such  bliss ; 

No  frown  of  stern  Pallas  shall  fetter  my  charms ; 
The  mother  who  hushes  her  babe  with  a  kiss 

Feels    not    the    devotion    which    thrilleth    mine 
arms." 

THLEXIEPEA. 

"Ye  grasp  at  a  shadow  when  seeking  renown, 

And  perish  in  battle  enshrouded  in  blood ; 
But  raptures  and  blisses  with  Love  shall  flit  down, 

And  laughter  and  music  his  magic  hath  wooed. 
O  heroes,  here  endeth  the  tale  of  your  toils ; 

O  wound  not  my  spirit  by  turning  away  ! 
In  pulses  of  passion  forget  your  turmoils, 

And  gather  the  roses  while  still  it  is  May." 

ORPHEUS. 

"  My  comrades  brave,  list  not  unto  their  lays, 
The  voice  of  death  from  lips  of  poisonous  lust ! 

The  paths  of  duty  are  the  brightest  ways, — 
Lift,  lift  your  souls,  thus  grovelling  in  the  dust ! 


36  ORPHEUS  AND    THE  SIRENS. 

Our  loved  ones  wait  at  home  and  watch  in  vain, 
Their  bright  eyes  tearful  in  their  lonely  gloom ; 

Let  us  return  and  soothe  their  tender  pain, 
Kissing  their  soft  cheeks  into  brighter  bloom. 

"  They  wait  beside  the  barren,  restless  seas, 

Their  soft  eyes  dimmed   with  watching  for  our 

sail ; 
Shall  we  so  heartless  and  perfidious  be, 

As  to  forget  their  faces  grown  so  pale  ? 
How  many  eyes  will  sparkle  when  we  come! 

How  many  hearts  will  bound  with  waking  bliss  ! 
Let  us  return  unto  our  long-lost  home, 

For  only  there  hath  earth  its  paradise." 

His  sweet  tones  died  upon  the  raptured  waves, 

Which  moaned  and  sighed  to  lose  their  balmy  sounds, 

And  with  the  sun  that  faded  out  of  sight 

They  left  the  lone  sea  desolate  and  still ; 

The  dull  blank  silence  that  was  left  behind 

Fell  on  the  soul  like  stillness  of  the  grave. 

The  songs  had  ceased,  but  Orpheus'  harp  had  won  ! 

That  dreary  night  would  be  the  Sirens'  last ! 

The  strong  breeze  rose,  and  swelled  the  broad,  while 

sails ; 

The  hapless  Sirens,  weeping  piteously, 
Gazed,  wan  and  drooping,  at  the  fleeting  ship, 
And  bowed  their  heads  beneath  the  shade  of  death. 
Their  golden  hair  fell  drooping  on  their  breasts, 
Their   rounded   arms  grew  cold,  their  red   cheeks 

paled ; 


ETERNAL   LOVE.  37 

Then  rose  their  death-song,  moaning  deep  and  low, 

Like  some  child's  sob,  so  woful,  tremulous, 

Or,  like  the  wail  of  chill  November  winds 

Above  the  grave  of  summer's  withered  flowers, 

And  dying,  dying,  sinking,  sinking  low, 

The   Sirens'    hearts   were   stilled,   their   eyes    were 

dimmed ; 

The  shades  of  night  fell  on  the  woful  scene, 
Their  death-song  fading  in  the  gathering  gloom. 
1886. 


ETEKNAL    LOYE. 

"  For  when  they  shall  rise  from  the  dead,  they  neither 
marry,  nor  are  given  in  marriage ;  but  are  as  the  angels  which 
are  in  heaven." — ST.  MARK  xii.  25. 

LOVE,  they  tell  me  mournful  stories  of  the  life  beyond 

the  tomb. 
Whether  spent  in  bowers  of  Eden  or  in  lower  worlds 

of  gloom  ; 
Thou  art  wise,  dear  love,  my   master,  though  the 

mortals  call  thee  blind, 
And  I  grope  in  tears  and  darkness ;  thou  must  now 

the  pathway  find. 

Love,  they  tell  me  as  I'm  sinking  in  the  gate-way  of 

the  grave 
Nevermore  thy  smiles  so  tender  nor  thy  kisses  I 

shall  crave, 


38  ETERNAL  LOVE. 

Nevermore  shall  long  to  see  thee,  never  long  thy 

step  to  hear, 
Though  a  thousand  ages  waiting,  counting  lingering 

year  by  }7ear. 

Love,  they  tell  me  in  the  caverns  of  the  Charnel's 

realms  of  gloom 
Never  blush  the  sweet  carnations  nor  the  soft  warm 

roses  bloom ; 
And  that  solemn  spirits  treading  in  those  mournful 

midnight  bowers 
Only  see  the  chill  camelias  and  the  ghostly  white 

moon-flowers. 

Love,  they  tell  me  all  are  strangers  on  those  dreary, 

dreary  strands, 
And  each  passes  each  in   silence,  smiling  not  nor 

grasping  hands ; 
With  those  phantoms  treading  onward,  passing  still 

each  other  by, 
Ne'er  a  word  of  love  is  spoken,  ne'er  is  heard  a  laugh 

or  sigh. 

Love,  they  tell  me  high-born  ladies  and  the  knights 

in  armor  there 
Meeting  in  those  dim  recesses  only  gaze  with  chilly 

stare ; 
And  that  lovers  and  their  loved  ones,  once  so  tender, 

warm,  and  true, 
Never  turn  to  look  a  moment,  passing  from   each 

other's  view. 


ETERNAL  LOVE.  39 

Love,  they  tell  me  when  those  spirits  in  the  end 

ascend  to  heaven, 
Wisdom,  beauty,  treasures,  glory,  all  the  gifts  but 

love  are  given  ; 
Though  one  spirit  be  in  Eden,  one  in  Hades'  mad 

despair, 
This  shall  know  the  other's  torment,  yet  will  never 

shed  a  tear. 

Love,  I  tell  thee  as  I'm  dying  what  my  answer,  love, 
shall  be, 

And  my  heart  for  both  upwelling  answers  for  thy 
self  and  me — 

Nearer,  nearer,  true  love,  nearer  I  gather  fast  the 
shades  of  night, 

Kiss  me,  kiss  me,  dear  love,  kiss  me !  ere  the  fading 
of  the  light. 

Though  I'm  clothed  in  funeral  garments,  I  will  tear 

the  shrouds  away, 
Breaking  through  the  dismal  charnel,  walled  with 

iron,  stone,  and  clay, 
Then  with  fingers  torn  and  bleeding,  pallid  face,  and 

bruised  feet, 
I  shall  wake  thee  in  the  midnight,  stealing  kisses 

warm  and  sweet. 

Love,  I  tell  thee,  should  they  give  me  Paradise  with 

all  its  bliss, 
And  I  heard  thee  calling  to  me  from  the  dark  and 

dread  abyss, 


<?^s^. 


40  "JESUS    WEPT." 

I  would  beg  the  demon  porter  to  return  thee  to  the 

light ; 
If  he  would  not,  I  would  join  thee  in  thine  anguish 

and  thy  night. 


"JESUS    WEPT." 

MY  Master  bides  not  at  the  rich  man's  palace  on  this 

day, 
Where  mirthful  music,  wine,  and  feasting  speed  the 

hours  away ; 
His  weary,  way-worn  feet  have  brought  him  to  this 

lowly  door, 
And  there  the  Prince  of  Heaven  sits  weeping  with 

the  friendless  poor. 

O   blessed    Lord,    friend    of    the    friendless,    happy 

should  they  be, 
Their  burning  grief  and  anguish   sharing  side  by 

side  with  thee ! 
For  in  this  doubting  age  we  can  but  moan  and  beg 

thy  grace, 
But  cannot  see  thy  loving  tears  nor  know  thy  gentle 

face. 

Though  in  that  rich  man's  palace  swells  the  sound 

of  revelry, 
To-morrow  in  that  palace  shall  the  wail  of  anguish 

be; 


"JESUS    WEPT."  41 

Though  in  this  poor  man's  hovel  stalks  the  horrid 

spectre  Death, 
Soon  shall  He  vanish  at  the  great  King's  life-inspiring 

breath. 

Oh,  wondrous  sight,  a  Monarch  sitting  in  that  humble 

cot! 
Oh,  wondrous  sight,  the  Lord  of  angels  with  this 

hapless  lot ! 
Oh,  wondrous  sight,  here  treads  the  ruler  of  the  suns 

and  stars ! 
Oh,  wondrous    sight,   our   God   is   weeping  'midst 

Earth's  prison  bars ! 

I  wonder  if  his  moanings  did  not  change  to  music 

sweet, 
I  wonder  if  the  blossoms  did  not  spring  to  kiss  his 

feet, 
I  wonder  if  the  watching  angels  gathered  up  those 

tears 
And  made  them  starry  clusters,  shining  through  the 

endless  years. 

For  they  were  purer  than  the  dews  on  lilies  newly 

blown, 
And  lovelier  than  an  empress'  jewelled  diadem  they 

shone ; 
More  radiant  than  the  treasures  that  the  sea's  rich 

caves  adorn, 
More  glorious  than  the  Oriental  splendors  of  the 

morn. 

4 


42  "JESUS    WEPT.'1 

Those   blessed,    blessed   tear-drops,    falling   on   our 

dreary  dearth, 
Have  wooed  a  golden  harvest  from  the  withered 

waste  of  earth, 
Have  melted,  too,  a  myriad  million  selfish  hearts  of 

stone, 
And  blotted  out  uncounted  sins  in  earth's  vast  records 

shown. 

And  though  a  thousand  demons  seek  to  give  thy 

cause  a  thrust, 
Those  burning  tears  have  worn  their  cruel  daggers 

into  rust ! 
And  though  a  hundred  empires  'gainst  thee  hurl 

their  gathered  powers, 
Those  holy  tear-drops,  like  a  flood,  sweep  down  their 

haughty  towers! 

And  though  a  host  of  bigots  burning  with  a  furious 

zeal 
Have  sought  to  aid  their  false  creeds  with  the  chain 

and  stake  and  wheel, 
Those  tears  have  quenched  their  fires  and  broken 

all  their  iron  bars, 
Thy  cause  triumphant  still  o'er  steel  and  torch  and 

bloody  wars. 

Oh,  blessed  tears,  with  rainbow  colors  yearning  earth 

illume ! 
Oh,  blessed  tears,  with  lotus  flowers  make  blissful 

Heaven  bloom ! 


THE   GRAVEYARD.  43 

Oh,  blessed  tears,  in  mercy  rain  on  all  the  spirits  fell, 
And  like  a  mighty  ocean  quench  the  flaming  gates 
of  Hell! 


THE    GRAVEYARD. 

ONCE  I  feared  thee,  mournful  Monarch,  with  thy  sad 

and  solemn  dells, 
Haunted  by  the  vesper  shadows  and  the  sobbing 

funeral  bells ; 

Haunted  by  the  spectral  roses,  in  their  silken  robes 

of  white, 
And  the  mock-bird's  mystic  singing  in  the  dim  and 

dusky  night ; 

Haunted  by  the  tombstones  ghastly  gleaming 
through  magnolia  leaves, 

And  the  restless  moonlight  figures  where  the  grave- 
mound  dimly  heaves. 

But  my  loved  ones  gather  with  thee  in  the  fading, 

fleeting  years, 
And  I  lay  within  thy  caverns  all  my  joys  and  hopes 

and  fears. 

Thou  hast  treasures  in  thy  bosom  richer  than  the 

ocean's  caves, 
Where  the  lustrous  pearls  are  beaming  and  the  coral 

forest  waves, 


44  THE   GRAVEYARD. 

Where  the  mermaid  gathers  amber  filled  with  mellow 

golden  light, 
And  the  silver-weighted  galleons  glimmer  through 

the  emerald  night ; 

Thou  hast  hearts  of  gold  within   thee,  hearts  all 

priceless  pearls  above, 
Rich  with  sweetness,  rich  with  kindness,  rich  with 

never-dying  love  ; 

Thou  hast  dreams  and  aspirations  sleeping  with  thy 

sheeted  dead, 
Wondrous  visions,  grand  ambitions,  from  the  earth 

forever  fled. 


Thou  hast  beauties  in  thy  bosom  blooming  under 
neath  our  feet, 

Lovelier  than  our  purple  lilacs  and  our  jasmines  soft 
and  sweet ; 

Thou  hast  blue-eyed,  dimpled  children,  with  their 
mazy,  golden  hair, 

Thou  hast  maids  with  brows  of  beauty,  manly  fig 
ures  sleeping  there. 

Thou  hast  wisdom  in  thy  bosom  greater  than  the 

lore  of  earth, 
Gathered   by  its   gray-haired   sages  from  the  dim 

creation's  birth ; 


A    VANISHED  SUMMER.  45 

Thou  hast  infants  in  thy  bosom,  learned  in  secrets 

whispered  low, 
Which  our  wise  men  seek  forever,  never  find,  and 

cannot  know. 


A  VANISHED   SUMMER 

THE  dull  December  days,  with  garlands  sere, 

Bear  slowly,  sadly  on  the  dying  year ; 

The  sombre  hills,  veiled  in  their  mists  of  gray, 

Like  mourners  in  some  haunted  land  away, 

With  haggard  faces  view  the  last  sad  hours 

Of  him  whose  spring-time  wreathed  their  brows  with 

flowers ; 

The  weird,  wild  winds  wail  forth  a  funeral  hymn 
Amid  the  bare  boughs  of  the  forests  dim. 

Soon  will  the  chill  storms  scatter  clouds  of  snow, 
And  stinging  sleet  and  beating  hailstones  blow, 
Like  savage  Cossack  horsemen  dashing  by, 
And  fiercely  clashing  through  the  earth  and  sky ; 
While  I.  amid  the  desolation,  yearn 
For  summer  days  that  never  can  return, 
Whose  mellow  skies  and  fragrant  flowers  have  per 
ished, 
And  now  alone  within  my  heart  are  cherished. 

O  gentle  love,  those  happy  hours  are  dead ! 
Our  blissful  summer  has  forever  fled  ! 


46  A    VANISHED  SUMMER. 

Yet  often  doth  my  soul  amid  this  rime 
Crave  and  regret  that  long-lost  happy  time ; 
The  frosty  earth  seems  budding  forth  in  flowers, 
The  liquid  bird-songs  fill  the  withered  bowers, 
The  cold  gray  sky  seems  smiling  down  on  me 
When  thinking  of  our  summer  by  the  sea. 

How  I  remember  now  those  golden  days, 
Robed  in  their  dreamy,  gleaming  tropic  haze! 
Palmettos  graceful  and  the  dark-green  pines, 
The  crimson  roses  and  the  trailing  vines  ! 
I  see  the  green  Savannah's  leafy  glooms, 
Adorned  by  splendor  of  magnolia  blooms, 
The  blushing  oleanders,  jasmines  rare, 
And  mock-birds  warbling  in  the  ambient  air ! 

How  I  remember  now  the  broad,  bright  sea, 
Soft  as  the  sky,  grand  as  eternity! 
How  oft  we  sported  with  its  playful  spray, 
Or  watched  the  ships  that  glimmered  far  away! 
We  saw  the  mornings  rise  from  garden  bowers, 
With  pearly  grottoes  and  with  jewelled  towers, 
The  evenings,  'mid  their  ruby-clustered  vines, 
Exhaling  clouds  of  misty  mellow  wines ! 

We  saw  the  white  moon  from  the  darkness  bloom, 

A  water-lily  in  a  lake  of  gloom ! 

Then  through  the  twilight  watched  the  timid  stars, 

Led  by  the  crimson-crested  hero  Mars ! 

And  then  we  told  our  old,  old  tale  of  love, 

Until  our  spirits  soared  to  skies  above, 


THE  ONE  LOVE.  47 

And,  guided  by  the  splendor  of  thine  eyes, 
We  trod  with  angels  through  that  paradise. 

Ah,  summer  garden,  with  the  golden  gate, 
Thy  blissful  glories  all  are  desolate ! 
Thy  golden  sunshine  now  is  lost  in  gloom, 
Thy  wondrous  blossoms  now  are  in  their  tomb ! 
Ah,  summer  ocean,  with  the  playful  waves, 
Thy  tropic  splendors  slumber  in  their  graves ! 
Thy  sweetest  face  hath  now  forever  vanished, 
Thy  sweetest  hope  is  now  forever  banished  ! 
1885. 


THE    ONE    LOYE. 

THERE  is  a  flower  I  long  to  call  mine  own, 

Most  modest,  frailest  of  the  garden's  blooms. 

Within  that  bower  the  star-like  lily  looms, 
The  queenly  rose  reigns  on  her  emerald  throne, 
The  sweet  carnation's  breath  is  softly  blown, 

The  gorgeous  tulip  flames  through  leafy  glooms, 

But  love  for  that  one  flower  my  heart  consumes ; 
My  soul  craves  for  her  and  for  her  alone. 
The  world  hath  other  flowers  of  richer  hue, 

And  other  buds  will  bloom  when  these  have  fled ; 
But  with  that  flower  doth  pine  my  bosom  true, 

And  ne'er  another  love  my  soul  shall  wed ; 
My  faded  blossom  cannot  youth  renew, 

Nor  life  revive  my  one  love  that  is  dead. 


48  UNSPOKEN  LOVE. 

"HE   WHO   HATH   LOVED." 

HE  who  hath  loved  hath  borne  a  vassal's  chain, 

And  worn  the  royal  purple  of  a  king; 

Hath  shuddered  'neath  the  icy  Winter's  sting, 
Then  revelled  in  the  golden  Summer's  reign ; 
He  hath  within  the  dust  and  ashes  lain, 

Then  soared  o'er  mountains  on  an  eagle's  wing; 

A  hut  hath  slept  in,  worn  with  wandering, 
And  hath  been  lord  of  castle-towers  in  Spain. 
He  who  hath  loved  hath  starved  in  beggar's  cell, 

Then  in  Aladdin's  jewelled  chariot  driven  ; 
He  hath  with  passion  roamed  a  demon  fell, 

And  had  an  angel's  raiment  to  him  given ; 
His  restless  soul  hath  burned  with  flames  of  hell, 

And  winged  through  ever-blooming  fields  of  heaven. 


UNSPOKEN    LOVE. 

I  DARE  not  in  thine  ears  my  secret  tell, 

And  long  in  vain  to  say,  "  I  love  thee,"  sweet. 
False  love  is  like  a  swallow,  shrill  and  fleet, 

True  love  a  mock-bird,  under  some  strange  spell, 

Who  sings  alone  where  midnight  shadows  dwell ; 
One,  like  a  vain  rose,  every  face  doth  greet, 
While  one,  which  never  mortal  eye  shall  meet, 

Doth  blossom  like  the  fadeless  asphodel. 

False  love  speaks  loudly,  like  a  fickle  wave, 

While,  like  the  great  deep  'neath  the  billow's  roar, 


SONNET.  49 

True  love  doth  hide  its  wondrous  treasure- cave ; 

One,  like  this  life,  is  changeful,  soon  is  o'er; 
While  one,  like  death,  clasps  in  his  silent  grave, 

And  keeps  his  secret,  true  for  evermore. 


"THOU   LITTLE    DKEAMEST." 

THOU  little  dreamest,  as  I  gaze  at  thee, 

What  visions  gather  in  mine  eager  eyes ; 

Yet  all  the  glory  of  the  summer  skies 
Would  vanish  if  thy  face  I  could  not  see ; 
A  dreary  desert,  where  thou  wert,  to  me 

A  wondrous  golden  city  would  arise ; 

But  all  the  earth,  with  myriad  human  ties, 
A  wilderness,  without  thy  soul,  would  be. 
For  thee  my  heart  shall,  never  ceasing,  yearn 

Until  my  locks  with  winter  snows  are  gray  ; 
For  thee  its  flame  shall  ever  constant  burn 

Until  it  flickers  on  my  dying  day ; 
To  thee,  my  darling,  it  shall  fondly  turn 

Until  it  crumbles  in  the  dust  away. 


SONNET. 

ON    MY   TWENTY-FIRST    BIRTHDAY,    FEBRUARY    10,    1887. 

THE  restless  years  at  last  have  reached  this  day, 
When  youth  must  leave  me,  never  to  return, 
When  Nature's  kindly  face  grows  cold  and  stern, 

And  life  seems  short,  which  once  stretched  far  away. 


50  A  BRIDAL  BALLAD. 

No  longer  shall  I  rove  'neath  skies  of  May ; 

New  toils  and  cares  are  mine,  hard  truths  to  learn, 

Which  ever  faster  fall  from  sorrow's  urn, 
Since  life  no  longer  means  a  childish  play. 
O  Yoiceless  Future  !  what  fate  dost  thou  hide  ? 

Hast  thou  a  tale  of  darkness  or  of  light? 
Shall  sin  and  sorrow  snare  my  feet  untried, 

And  shall  I  stand  or  fall  before  their  might  ? 
But  lose  or  win,  or  weal  or  woe  betide, 

All  is  forgotten  soon  in  endless  night. 


A   BKIDAL    BALLAD. 

EARTH,  en  wreathed  in  emerald  verdure,   smiles  in 

every  dell  and  dale, 
Heaven,  aglow  with  azure  splendor,  bends  with 

gentle  gaze  above, 

Morn  arises  with  the  glory  of  a  wondrous  fairy-tale, 
Night  itself  is  bright  with  beauty,  when  the  heart 
is  filled  with  love. 

Spring  is  tuneful  with  the  trilling  of  a  million  merry 

birds, 
Queenly  Summer's  radiant  blossoms  flame  in  every 

field  and  grove, 
Autumn,    crowned    with    richest    fruitage,    laughs 

among  his  vines  and  herds, 

Even  gruff  and  surly  Winter  smiles  to  see  the  face 
of  love. 


A  BRIDAL   BALLAD.  51 

Youth,  aglow  with  joys  unfading,  wreathes  his  golden 

locks  with  flowers, 
Age's  path  is  strewn  with  garlands  which  a  loving 

spirit  wove, 
Life  reclines  in  regal  beauty,  singing  under  budding 

bowers, 

Even  Death  at  last  is  conquered  by  the  gentle  hand 
of  love. 

But  the  earth  is  gray  and  faded,  heaven  is  draped  in 

sombre  clouds, 
Morn's  bright  eyes  are  dim  and  tearful,  twilight's 

shadows  sadly  rove, 
All  the  year  is  dull  and  gloomy,  all  its  joys  are  in 

their  shrouds, 

Life  is  but  a  funeral  journey  to  a  heart  bereft  of 
love. 

What  is  wealth,  so  hard  and  selfish,  with  its  heaps 

of  gems  and  gold? 
What  is  fame,  so  false  and  fickle,  at  whose  word  the 

masses  move  ? 

Wealth  is  but  the  icy  grandeur  of  the  Arctic  moun 
tains  cold, 

Fame  a  fleeting  desert  phantom,  when  the  soul  has 
banished  love. 

But  to-day,  two  souls  united,  never  more  to  stray 

apart, 

Have    begun    their    journey    onward,    all    their 
plighted  faith  to  prove  ; 


52  THE  BYRON  CENTENARY— 1788-1888. 

Hope  has  robed  the  clouds  with  roses,  joy  is  wreath 
ing  round  each  heart, 

Every  step  is  strewn  with  lilies  from  the  fairy-land 
of  love, 

And  the  days  shall  never  darken,  nor  the  pathway 

lead  astray, 
While   sweet   Eros  guides  them  onward   like   a 

gentle  snow-white  dove  ; 
Youth  shall  flit  in  fadeless  morning,  all  the  months 

be  merry  May, 
Hope  shall  never  be  deceitful  while  their  hearts 

are  true  to  love. 

1888. 


THE    BYKON    CENTER  ABY— 1788-1888. 

A  HUNDRED  summers  since  his  first  birthday 

Have  shone  in  splendor,  then  have  pined  and  died  ; 
Earth's  fond  old  heart  has  throbbed  with  joyous 

pride 

To  greet  them  with  their  garlands  green  and  gay, 
And  filled  with  anguish  as  they  passed  away. 

But  brightest  Summer  decked  her  kingdoms  wide 

o  & 

When  unto  Byron's  lyre  her  mounts  replied — 
He  perished,  and  her  fields  were  sere  and  gray. 
Her  sweetest  flowers  were  springing  when  he  came. 

But  fading  as  his  footsteps  turned  to  leave. 
Among  her  sons  is  many  a  mighty  name, 

But  none  like  him,  the  reckless,  bright,  and  brave. 
He  died,  like  music  in  a  glorious  dream, 

And  Love's  own  heart  was  laid  in  Byron's  grave. 


A    WEDDING  SONG.  53 


A  WEDDING  SONG. 

Two  roses  nestling  in  the  same  fair  bower, 
Two  dew-drops  in  the  bosom  of  a  flower, 
Two  sweet  birds  singing  songs  of  soft  delight, 
Two  stars  that  meet  in  glittering  fields  of  night, 
Two  roseate  clouds  that  mingle  far  above, — 
Such  is  the  union  of  true  hearts  that  love ! 

Fond  hopes  are  beauteous  in  the  morn  of  life, 
But  soon  they  perish  in  the  harsh  world's  strife ; 
The  sparkling  wine-cup  gilds  the  festal  night, 
But  sears  the  soul  with  baleful  blast  and  blight. 
Our  dearest  pleasures  soon  shall  cease  to  move — 
Earth  hath  no  fadeless  joy  save  precious  love. 

With  pearly  treasures  gathered  from  the  sea, 
Or  starry  gems  from  desert  Araby, — 
With  golden  heaps  from  India's  wondrous  caves, 
Brought  to  their  master  by  a  thousand  slaves, 
The  owner  turns  from  that  for  which  he  strove 
And  feels  but  poor  without  some  one  to  love. 

As  through  chill  mists  around  the  traveller's  way 

The  sunshine  steals  to  warm  the  sombre  day ; 

As  through  the  Winter  night's  enshrouding  gloom 

Soft  Spring  returns  in  all  her  maiden  bloom ; 

So  heaven  comes  like  some  pure  white-winged  dove 

To  bless  the  humblest  cot  where  bides  true  love. 


54  THE  FIRST  TRANSGRESSION. 

May  all  your  troubles  be  but  April  showers 
To  strew  the  way  with  rich  and  radiant  flowers ! 
May  angels  hover  with  their  outspread  wings 
To  shield  the  nest  where  fond  affection  clings! 
May  sweet  joys  flit  where'er  your  feet  may  rove, 
And  summer  splendors  wreathe  the  path  of  love ! 
1887. 


THE    FIEST    TEANSGEESSIOK 

EVE,  sweet  tempter,  lovely  sinner,  God  hath  cursed 

the  deed  which  thou  hast  done, 
Paradise   is  lost  forever,  and   the  stricken  world's 

woes  have  begun. 

Over  Eden's   eastern    mountains   flame  the  purple 

glories  of  the  morn, 
Welcomed  by  the  waking  warblers  and  the  dewy 

blossoms  newly  born. 

But  I  see  the  green  leaves  trembling,  and  I  hear  the 

quivering  breezes  sigh, 
Feeling  that  for  thy  transgression  thou  and  I  and 

all  the  world  must  die. 

Yet  a  spirit  whispers  to  me  that  to  save  the  world 

'tis  not  too  late, 
If  I  turn  my  heart  against  thee,  sin  not,  and  desert 

thee  to  thy  fate. 


THE  FIRST  TRANSGRESSION.  55 

Then  the  fleeting  years  would  scatter  pallid  autumn 

lilies  on  thy  tomb, 
I,  thy  consort,  live  forever,  radiant  with  immortal 

youthful  bloom. 

Then    mayhap   the   great    Creator   would   another 

woman  mould  for  me  ; 
I  would  twine  her  locks  with  roses,  give  her  kisses 

that  I  once  gave  thee. 

But  I  cannot,  wondrous  being !  for  thy  smiles  and 

wistful,  pleading  tears 
Still  would  follow,  hunt  and  haunt  me  through  the 

maze  of  never-dying  years. 

Night's  dim  shades  would  find  me  ever  lying  by  the 

bride  I  could  not  save, 
And  the  piping  birds  at  morning  still  would  find  me 

weeping  at  thy  grave. 

Earth  would  be  a  barren   kingdom  when,  without 

my  queen,  to  rest  I  stole, 
Life  eternal,  bitter  anguish,  if  I  lost  the  idol  of  my 

soul. 

Thou  hast  conquered,  sweet  enchantress !    I  forsake 

the  fields  of  Paradise 
For  thy  bosom's  realm  of  rapture  and  the  blissful 

glory  of  thine  eyes. 


56  GLADSTONE. 

It  is  done !  I  see  the  tiger,  maddened,  eyes  ablaze, 
come  creeping  hither ! 

It  is  done  !  The  birds  cease  singing,  and  our  glori 
ous  garden  bowers  wither ! 

So  my  sons  shall  ruin  empires,  cast  away  their  honor, 

treasures,  fame, 
Sink  to  Hell  and  turn  from  Heaven,  when  a  woman 

bids  them  share  her  shame. 


GLADSTONE. 

1886. 

GATHERING  snows  of  six-and-seventy  winters  whiten 

on  thy  lofty  brow, 
Gathering    glooms    of    six-and-seventy    winters 

hover  round  thy  proud  eye's  fire, 
And  the  mournful  twilight  hoary  clouds  thy  life 
time's  gentle  sunset  glow, 

While    thy   hopes,,  once   so   triumphant,    in   the 
shadow  of  the  tomb  expire. 

But  above  that  waste  of  systems,  strewn  with  ruins 

of  the  grand  and  great, 

Streams  thy  banner,  still  resplendent,  as  the  morn 
ing  flames  through  dusky  night, 
Like  a  star  thine  eye  still  flashes,  leading  legions 

that  shall  ne'er  retreat, 

And  thy  form  is  still  unbending,  battling  in  the 
burnished  mail  of  Eight. 


GLADSTONE.  57 

Thou   that  scornest  empty  titles  where  the   heart 

and  soul  are  false  and  low, 
Thou  that  rendest  chains  of  tyrants,  forged    in 

feudal  dungeons  of  the  past, 
Soon  thine  arms  shall  be  victorious,  soon  thy  hand 

shall  deal  a  deadly  blow, 

And    the   strong   oppressor's   cohorts   scatter   as 
before  the  autumn  blast. 

England's  proudest  kings  are  peasants  placed  beside 

thy  peerless,  princely  mien, 
And  their  diadems  are  dimmer  than  the  shadow 

of  thy  sunlike  fame ; 
Thy  crown  jewels  are  the  tear-drops  of  the  grateful 

emerald  ocean  queen, 

And  her  never-fading  garlands  shall  forever  deck 
thy  hallowed  name. 

Through  the  years  shall  live  thy  trophies,  when  thy 

soul  hath  rent  its  mortal  bars, 
When  Napoleon's  arch  of  triumph  in  the  gather 
ing  dust  of  time  shall  lie, 
With  a  splendor  never  waning,  like  the  wondrous 

never-dying  stars, 

When   the   old   earth's   proudest   empires   like  a 
morning  mist  have  glimmered  by. 


58  RODERICK  D.  GAMBRELL. 

KODEKICK    D.    GAMBKELL. 

(Poet  and  reformer,  killed  May   5,   1887,  aged   twenty-one 

years.) 

How  long   shall   crimson-handed   murder   hold  his 

cruel  sway  ? 
How  long  shall  God  be  silent  in  the  mute  skies  far 

away? 

How  long  shall  heedless  angels  look  with  blind  eyes 
on  our  world  ? 

How  long  shall  crime  hold  revel  ere  the  thunder 
bolts  are  hurled  ? 

How  long  shall  earth  be  flooded  with  her  children's 

blood  and  tears  ? 
How  long  unheard  our  pleading  through  the  sighing, 

sobbing  years? 

And  now  the  cruel  spoiler  comes  to  lay  thy  proud 

head  low, 
When  youth  is  in  its  budding  and  its  sweet  May 

morning  glow. 

For  though  our  life  is  kindled  only  by  the  Master's 

breath, 
Each  heartless,  ruthless  mortal  still  may  blow  the 

blast  of  death. 

Ah,  how  the  anxious  watchers  long  to  see  thee  at 

the  gate ! 
Ah,  how  the   sobbing   mourners  miss   thee  in   the 

gloaming  late ! 


RODERICK  D.   GAMBRELL.  59 

But  nevermore  shall  watchers  see  thy  face  so  blithe 

and  bright, 
And  nevermore  shall  mourners  hear  thy  footsteps 

quick  and  light. 

For  noisome  weeds  may  flourish,  bearing  loathsome 

fruitage  still, 
While  soon  the  flower  fadeth  in  the  cruel  north  wind 

chill. 

Thy  boyish  face  was  beaming  like  some  gay  and 

gallant  song, 
While  thou  didst  gird  thine  armor  for  the  war  with 

shameless  wrong. 

I  see  thee  still,  young  hero,  planning  bold  and  bril 
liant  deeds, 

Prepared  to  tread  unflinching  where  the  path  of  duty 
leads ; 

So  brave,  warm-hearted,  truthful,  ever  daring  to  be 
right, 

Thy  white  shield  gleaming  and  thy  good  sword  bur 
nished  for  the  fight. 

There  reared  thy  dragon  foeman,  coiling  in  his  mon 
strous  might, — 

And  then  the  shriek  of  "murder!"  hurtled  in  the 
shuddering  night. 


60  DYNAMITE. 

But  soon  from  out  thine  ashes  shall  a  host  of  heroes 

start, 
And  soon  a  deadly  dagger  shall  benumb  the  dragon's 

heart. 

As  out  thy  grave  shall  blossom  all  the  splendor  of 
the  spring, 

Thy  soul  shall  wake  above  us,  borne  upon  a  swan- 
like  wing. 


DYNAMITE. 

WELL  may  ye  shudder  at  my  name  and  curse  my 

hour  of  birth, 
Ye  tyrants,  hoarding  misers,  lords,  and  rulers  of  the 

earth ! 
For  my  hoarse  voice  will  never  soothe  your  ears 

with  flattery, 
But  always  bears  unwelcome  news  unto  the  powers 

that  be. 

We  cannot  love  each  other's  ways,  born  under  dif 
fering  stars, 

Ye  under  regal  Hesper's  beams,  I  under  smouldering 
Mars; 

Ye  came  into  the  world  bedecked  in  silks  and  gems 
and  gold, 

I  came  in  rags  and  tatters;  wild  with  hunger  and 
with  cold. 


DYNAMITE.  61 

I  woke  in  stony  dungeon  cell,  barred  from  the  cheer 
ful  light, 

Was  fostered  in  the  dreary  shades  of  misery's  tenfold 
night, 

For  golden  chains  wore  links  of  steel,  for  diamonds, 
tears  of  woe, 

For  rubies  I  had  drops  of  blood  brought  by  the 
tyrant's  blow. 

But  I  will  heed  no  master's  call,  I  never  bend  a  knee, 
Though  despots  seek  to  chain  me  down,  I  go  forever 

free; 
For  in  my  sinews  dwells  the  might  of  earthquake 

and  of  storm, 
And  jagged  lightnings  burst  their  bonds,  hurled  by 

my  giant  arm. 

The  massive  feudal  castles,  knit  with  blocks  of  granite 

stone, 
I  heave  on  Titan  shoulders  till  their  turrets  rock  and 

groan ; 
The  walls  built  in  a  hundred  years  fall  as  I  lift  my 

hand, 
And  palace  towers  by  my  breath  are  scattered  like 

the  sand. 

And  yet  my  mission  bears  a  boon  to  weary  human 
kind, 

And  welcome  is  my  good  right  arm  to  free  heroic 
mind; 


62  LEONORA. 

I  tear  the  bolts  from,  cells  of  woe  and  want  and 

slavery. 
In  freezing  mines,  to  lone  exiles,  I  whisper  "  Thou 

art  free !" 

Ye  princes  of  the  earth,  your  dungeons  must  restore 

their  prey, 
And  bleak  Siberia's  dens  shall  feel  the  golden  light 

of  day. 
Your  gold  can  bribe  me  not,  I  fling  your  chains 

away  to  rust ; 
I  sweep  the  earth  with  baleful  blast, — remember  ye 

are  dust ! 

1886. 


LEONOKA. 

(Head  before  the  Alumni  Association  of  the  University  of 
Mississippi,  Oxford,  Mississippi,  June,  1888.) 

UP  the  streets  of  San  Antonio  rode  the  swarthy 

Mexic  chief, 
With  his  cruel  glances  gloating  on  the  faces  marked 

with  grief. 
What  cared  he  for  supplication,  for  the  blood  and 

tears  they  shed? 
He  had  sworn  to  curb  the  Texans,  though  the  streets 

were  strewn  with  dead. 


LEONORA.  63 

But  a  lithe  form  leaped  before  him,  seized  his  startled 

horse's  rein, 
While  the  wild  steed  leaped  and  struggled,  waving 

back  his  ebon  mane  ; 
But  no  rude  hand  held  the  bridle  ;  'twas  a  maiden's, 

soft  and  small  ; 
So  he  quickly  lost  his  terror,  letting  low  his  proud 

neck  fall. 

She  was  radiant,  tall,  and  stately,  with  her  glossy, 

waving  hair, 
While  her  eyes,  like  stars  at  midnight,  glittered  with 

a  wild  despair  : 
"  Hateful  tyrant,  cruel  murderer,  give  my  lover  back 

to  me  ! 
See  me,  robber,  I  am  kneeling  in  the  very  dust  to 

thee  !" 

"  What,  my  beauty  !  do  you  curse  me,  then  implore 

me  from  the  dust  ? 
Sure,  your  thoughts  are  very  fitful,  —  can  you  in  my 

mercy  trust  ?  — 
But  your  lover,  foolish  woman,  in   an  hour  must 

surely  die  — 
Hush  !  come  nearer  !     You  shall  save  him  ere  this 

moment  passes  by  ! 

"  Think  once  more  before  you  answer  ;  do  not  turn 

your  face  away  ! 
Be  my  bride,  my  Texan  beauty,  and  he  shall  not  die 

to-day  !  — 


OW 


64  LEONORA. 

Hush,  the  crowd  is  listening,  dearest !  whisper  lowly 

in  mine  ear ; 
You   shall   not  delay  me  longer, — see  the   gallows 

looming  there !" 

Then  her  proud  head  bent  with  anguish,  then  her 

bright  eyes  dimmed  with  tears, 
And  the  deep  sobs  shook  her  bosom,  for  her  brave 

heart  sunk  with  fears ; 
"Murderer,"  then  she  faintly  faltered,  "you  have 

won ;  I  yield  at  last ! 
Save  his  life  and  I  will  leave  him ;  every  other  hope 

has  passed." 

Then  the  great  throng  made  a  passage,  as  the  doomed 

man  came  that  way, 
Shrouded  in  his  sable  garments  for  this  last  unhappy 

day; 
But  he  looked  with  pride  around  him,  smiling  at  the 

scowls  of  hate, 
Like   a   bridegroom   crowned   with  roses,  not  the 

victim  marked  by  Fate. 

"Halt!"  the  guard  and  prisoner  halted;  then  the 
general  smiled  and  said, — 

"  He  is  pardoned — Guards,  release  him  ;  I  will  spare 
his  worthless  head." 

Then  the  prisoner,  joyous,  wondering,  saw  his  Le 
onora  there ; 

But  her  hand  was  in  another's,  and  his  soul  sank  in 
despair. 


LEONORA.  65 

Night  arose  in  matchless  splendor,  jewelled  with  a 

thousand  stars, 
But  to  Leonora's  lover  all  their  rays  were  gleaming 

tears ; 
In  the  old  cathedral  windows  blazed  the  lamps  with 

ruddy  glow, 
For  his  darling  Texan  beauty  soon  would  wed  his 

hated  foe. 

She  was  decked  in  bridal  garments,  draped  in  misty, 

milk-white  veils, 
Like  a  snowy  cloud  of  summer,  or  a  barge  with 

silken  sails ; 
In  her  dark  hair  bloomed  a  cactus,  like  the  crimson 

setting  moon, 
While  her  wreath  of  orange-blossoms  gleamed  with 

radiance  of  the  noon. 

Standing  in  the  old  cathedral,  by  the  swarthy  Mex 
ican, 

While  he  triumphed,  she  was  blushing,  then  with 
anguish  growing  wan  : 

"One  request,"  she  said,  "you'll  grant  me;  I  must 
now  my  good  faith  prove ; 

Yonder  glares  he  like  a  tiger — I  must  see  my  hap 
less  love." 

Then  she  left  the  angry  bridegroom,  fell  before  her 

lover's  feet, 
Clasped  her  hands  in  shame  and  sorrow,  then  upon 

her  bosom  beat. 


66  LEONORA. 

11  Oh,  rny  darling,  lost  forever,  I  must  bid  a  last  fare 
well  ; 

How  I  love  you,  how  I've  struggled,  words  can 
never,  never  tell. 


"  Far  across  the  Eio  Grande,  with  a  weary  heart  so 

sore, 
I  must  seek  the  stranger's  country,  where  I'll  never 

see  thee  more ; 
I  shall  be  the  tyrant's  plaything,  I  shall  never  more 

be  free ; 
Say  that  you'll   forgive  me,   darling,  in  your  last 

words  unto  me !" 

"  Faithless,  fickle,  perjured  woman  !    Would  you  stab 

my  heart  again  ? 

Thus  to  leave  a  Texan  soldier  for  a  savage  Mexican ! 
Why  not  rather  let  me  perish  by  the  gallows  or  the 

sword 
Than  to  curse  me  for  a  lifetime  by  a  treacherous, 

poisoned  word  ?" 

"  Silence  !"  said  she,  whispering  lowly,  "  I  have  horses 

at  the  gate ; 
We  will  mount   them,  I  am  crafty — quick !  or  all 

will  be  too  late ! 
See  the  old  cathedral  rafters,  see  the  smoke  arise  on 

high ! 
I  have  set  the  torch  beneath  them — quick,  my  love, 

for  we  must  fly!" 


LEONORA.  67 

And  they  fled,  for  at  that  moment  terror  seized  the 

mighty  throng, 
As  the  fires,   like  gleaming  serpents,  writhed  the 

shrinking  roof  along. 
While  the  crowd  was  struggling  madly,  both  the 

lovers  reached  the  gate, 
Then  upon  their  Texan  horses  soon  were  flying  down 

the  street. 

Wildly  rushed  the  Mexic  minions,  loud  their  leader 
called  in  vain, 

For  the  Texan  steeds  were  swifter  than  a  blast  of 
winter  rain  : 

Far  across  the  green  prairie,  foaming,  dashing,  leap 
ing  on, 

Leonora  and  her  lover  laughed  to  see  the  race  was 
won. 

Yes !  both  lovers  liberated,  flying  over  emerald  plains, 
Grassy   meadows,  sparkling   fountains,  woodlands, 

fields  of  ripening  grains ; 
Now  her  dark  hair  streams  in  triumph,  now  her 

cheeks  glow  red  like  wine, 
And  her  starry  eyes  are  sparkling  as  she  laughs  and 

murmurs,  "Thine." 


68  WILL  HUBBARD  KERNAN. 

S  H  E  L  L  E  Y— 1792-1892. 

HE  came  amongst  us,  wand'ring  from  on  high, 

Like  golden-haired  Apollo,  long  ago, 

To  share  with  us  our  lives  and  labors  low, 
And  gaze  with  longing  on  his  native  sky ; 
To  sing  sweet  songs  whose  strains  shall  never  die 

For  weary  mortals  on  their  paths  of  woe ; 

To  cause  a  golden  city's  walls  to  grow 
By  magic  of  his  heavenly  harmony. 
But  now  the  singer  hath  forever  flown, 

And  left  us  beating  still  our  prison  bars ; 
His  spirit  o'er  the  midnight's  jewelled  zone 

Eeturned  to  reign  with  Mercury  and  Mars, 
With  Cassiopeia  on  her  sparkling  throne, 

And  dusk  Orion  crowned  with  radiant  stars. 


WILL   HIJBBAKD   KEKNAN. 

THOU  art  the  poet  of  the  realms  of  Night, 

Of  anguish,  desolation,  and  despair. 

Like  stern-browed  Orcus  leaping  from  his  lair, 
While  Enna's  blossoms  withered  in  their  fright, 
Thou   treadest   through  the  earth   with   blast  and 
blight, 

The  sweet  muse  from  her  gardens  glad  to  tear, 

That   she   thy  mournful   kingdom's   gloom  may 

share, 

A  bride  enrobed  in  funeral  garb  of  white. 
She  roams  our  fields  when  Spring  is  rich  and  green, 

And  when  the  golden  Summer  crowns  the  years ; 


A  SONG   OF  TO-DAY.  69 

But  when  the  Autumn's  mournful  face  is  seen, 
And  icy  Winter's  stormy  brow  uprears, 

Returns  to  be  Death's  sad  and  solemn  queen, 
With  thee,  weird  king  of  terrors  and  of  tears. 


A    SONG    OF    TO-DAY. 

IN  olden  romance  and  in  sweet  old  song 

I've  read  of  Love  o'erleaping  walls  of  stone, 

Of  Love  so  proud  and  passionate  and  strong 
It  burst  all  bonds  that  held  it  from  its  own. 

Walls  fell  away  like  magic  ;  keys  of  gold 
Unlocked  the  heart  of  watchers,  and  the  door 

That  guarded  beauty  from  the  tender  fold 
Of  lover's  arms  oped  wide  in  days  of  yore. 

No  matter  through  what,  feuds  or  civil  strife 
Of  warring  houses,  Borneo  could  yet, 

In  daring  carelessness  of  loveless  life, 
Kiss  'neath  the  vines  his  waiting  Juliet. 

Ah,  how  I  long  for  those  old  days  again, 
When  danger  lent  an  added  zest  to  love, — 

When  swords  were  all  that  held  Love  from  the  pain 
And  sweetness  of  the  bliss  that  melted  Jove  ! 


How  I  should  joy  o'er  guarded  walls  to  creep, 
Through  lines  of  sentries  seek  Love's  guided  way, 

To  find  my  sweet,  when  all  save  lovers  sleep, 
And,  with  her,  sigh  Life's  sweetest  half  away  ! 


70  A  SONG  OF  TO-DAY. 

But  there  are  sterner  tyrants  now  than  those 
That  battled  Love  in  gracious  days  of  old  ; 

'Tis  cruel  Custom,  careless  of  the  woes 

Of  youthful  hearts.    'Tis  Caution,  pulseless,  cold. 

'Tis  chill  Convention,  who  with  falsest  snare 
And  lie  of  Prudence  binds  the  ardent  girl, 

Lifts  the  charmed  chaplet  from  her  perfumed  hair, 
From  Life's  sweet  circlet  tears  the  fairest  pearl. 

Ah,  Eros,  Aphrodite,  give  me  grace, 

And  send  sharp  swords  to  guard  fair  maids  again ! 
I  should  not  then  bear  meekly  my  disgrace, 

And  live  in  banishment,  all  lonely,  then ! 

u  On  Love's  light  wings  would  I  o'erperch  all  walls, 
And  stony  limits  should  not  shut  Love  out;" 

I'd  pass  the  sentries  in  their  spear-hung  halls, 
Or  fight  and  die,  or  put  the  knaves  to  rout. 

But  now  she  'tis  that's  hostile,  and  though  Love 
From  me  to  her  has  sweetly  sped  his  dart, 

These  foul  false  phantoms  keep  their  watch  above 
The  tender  tremors  of  her  timid  heart. 

Ah,  dearest,  let  thine  own  sweet  nature  speak  ! 

See'st  not  my  heart,  all  prayerful,  prostrate  lies? 
Be  true  to  Love's  fair  colors  on  thy  cheek, 

And  Love's  dear  ensign  in  thy  perfect  eyes  I 

Be  thrall  to  shades  no  longer  !     Let  the  tone 
Of  Love's  persuasion  rule  all  words  above ; 

Let  my  heart  conquer,  it  will  free  thine  own, 
For  none  are  free  save  who  are  slaves  of  Love ! 

HOWARD  HAWTHORNE  McGEE. 


HER  ANSWER.  71 

HEE  ANSWER 

IF  thou  dost  love  me,  and  I  love  thee  too, 

Wilt  let  them  take  thy  sweetheart  from  thy  side  ? 

If  I  am  for  thee,  who  can  be  thy  foe  ? 
If  I  am  willing,  wilt  thou  be  denied? 

Ah,  laggard  love,  I  pine  in  lonely  halls, 

With  hateful  traitors  thee  and  me  between ; 

Wilt  thou,  my  loyal  subject,  scale  these  walls, 
And  liberate  thy  hapless  captive  queen  ? 

'Tis  true  no  swords  or  spears  surround  my  court, 
And  worldly  craft  is  now  the  sentinel ; 

'Tis  true  I'm  guarded,  not  by  fleet  and  fort. 
But  Wealth  and  Avarice  watch  my  prison  cell. 

Yet  in  that  fortress  thou  hast  friendly  hands, 
Two  little  rebels,  who  will  steal  its  key, 

With  potions  lull  to  sleep  the  sentry  bands, 
And  then  betray  the  castle  unto  thee. 

Oh,  fear  no  foe ;  naught  can  withstand  thy  powers 
When  thou  dost  love,  and  I  thy  love  return  ; 

To  steal  a  kiss  Love  breaks  through  stony  towers, 
And  Love  to  win  Love  laughs  the  world  to  scorn. 

He  loves  not  who  hath  not  the  heart  to  dare 
The  woman  that  he  loves  from  foes  to  take ; 

She  loves  not  who  will  not  his  portion  share, 

Though  forced  to  give  the  whole  world  for  his  sake. 


72  THE  PRINCE'S    WEDDING. 

Wilt  raise  the  siege,  and  bid  thy  hosts  depart, 
When  I'd  surrender  if  thou  shouldst  command  ? 

When  God  hath  given  unto  thee  my  heart, 
Wilt  let  a  mortal  rob  thee  of  my  hand  ? 

Then  take  the  kiss  I  long  to  give  to  thee, 

And  spite  the  scheming,  envious  world  outside ; 

I  all  in  all  to  thee,  and  thou  to  me, 

With  Love  our  world,  a  kingdom  rich  and  wide. 


THE    PKINCE'S    WEDDING. 

I  AM  standing  here  forsaken  in  my  lonely  attic  room, 
Hair  dishevelled,  lips  contorted,  fierce  eyes  glaring 
in  the  gloom. 

In  the  streets  I  hear  the  shouting  of  the  gay  and 

giddy  throng, 
Mad  with  mirth  and  mad  with  music,  sweeping  like 

a  flood  along ; 

Streaming  under  silken  banners,  under  leafy  arches 

green, 
Strewing  roses  in  the  pathway  of  the  nation's  future 

queen ; 

Here  they  come  in  festal  raiment,  eyes  aglow  and 

faces  bright ! 
Mounted  guards  with  gilded  trappings,   beauteous 

maids  bedecked  in  white  ! 


THE  PRINCE'S   WEDDING.  73 

Here  they  come,  the  little  children,  in  their  holiday 

attire ! 
Here  they  come,  the  bands  of  music,  setting  every 

heart  afire  ! 

But  my  soul  is  filled  with  anguish,  and  I  long  in  vain 

to  die, 
As  my  startled  babe  awakens  with  a  painful,  piteous 

cry. 

Ah,  my  babe,  my  helpless  outcast !  now  my  shame, 

though  once  my  joy, 
Pierce  me  not  with  fiercer  tortures ;  hush  thee,  hush 

thee,  pretty  boy ! 

Thou    shouldst  be  a  prince,  my  darling,  robed  in 

silken  garments  soft, 
Not  in  lowly  rags  and  tatters  in  this  squalid  attic 

loft; 

I  should  be  a  queen,  my  darling,  jewelled  o'er  with 
starry  gems, 

On  a  golden  throne  reclining,  wreathed  with  spark 
ling  diadems. 

For  the  prince,  boy,  is  thy  father,  thou  and  I  should 

share  his  name, 
But  the  traitor  now  hath  spurned  us,  hurling  us  to 

burning  shame. 

6 


74  THE  PRINCE'S   WEDDING. 

Now  the  city  shouts  his  praises  on  his  merry  wed 
ding-day, 

While  the  woman  he  hath  ruined  crouches  trembling 
in  his  way ! 

Man  may  dye  his  brow  with  crimson,  yet  may  wear 

a  lily  wreath, 
And  may  hide  his  hateful  treason  like  a  dagger  in 

its  sheath ; 

Woman,  having  once  worn  scarlet,  nevermore  shall 

wear  the  white 
Till  the  pallid  shroud  enfolds  her  in  the  enamel's 

cheerless  night. 

See  the  nuptial's  grand  procession,  marching  proudly 

in  the  sun, 
Heedless  of  thy  wailing  mother  with  her  shame  and 

sin  undone! 


See  the  beauteous  bride,  my  darling !    She  who  stole 

thy  father's  love ! 
See  her,  robed  in  spotless  garments,  like  a  peerless, 

snow-white  dove ! 


See  my  loved  one  there  beside  her!     See  his  eyes 

with  rapture  fill ! 
O  my  prince,  my  lord,  my  master,  how  I  love  thee, 

love  thee  still ! 


THE  PRINCE'S   WEDDING.  75 

How  I  crave  one  look  of  pity,  how  I  crave  one  fare 
well  sweet ! 

How  I  long  to  cry  unto  thee,  how  I  long  to  kiss  thy 
feet ! 

0  my  prince,  my  Grod,  remember,  thou  didst  once 

my  love  return, — 

But  thou  wilt  not  hear  or  heed  me  as  with  maddened 
heart  I  yearn. 

Hark,  the  wedding-bells  are  pealing !  She  is  steal 
ing  him  from  me ! 

Curses  on  thee,  happy  maiden ;  how  I  envy,  envy 
thee ! 

Hark,  the  wedding-bells  ring  faster !      I  am  thrilled 

with  madness  dire  ! 
Hark,  the  throbbing  peals  grow  louder !     Heart  and 

soul  are  all  afire ! 

1  am  furious,  frantic,  frenzied,  as  I  clutch  my  dag 

ger's  hilt ; 

I  am  coming,  coming,  coming !  Tremble,  tremble  in 
thy  guilt ! 

Now  I  hurl  my  wailing  infant  in  thy  rearing  horse's 

path ! 
Now  my  dagger  in  thy  bosom   quenches  swift  its 

flaming  wrath ! 


76  THE  PRINCE'S   WEDDING. 

It  is  done !    My  babe  lies  mangled  'neath  the  horse's 

pawing  feet ! 
It  is  done!     Thou  liest  bleeding,  dying  in  my  arms, 

my  sweet ! 


Now  I  hear  the   hammers   ringing  as  the  gallows 

rises  there  ; 
They  have  tied  my  hands  behind  me,  they  have 

shorn  my  waving  hair. 

Now  I  see  the  noose  adjusted,  as  they  bring  the 

sable  hood ; 
Now  I  see  the  rabble  gather,  as  they  clamor  for  my 

blood. 

But,  my  prince,  I  still  have  conquered,  thou  art  mine 

for  evermore! 
Thou  canst  not,  my  sweet,  evade  me,  I  shall  leave 

thee  nevermore  ! 

Though  thy  soul  should  soar  to  heaven,  and  should 

pass  the  pearly  gate, 
And  the  angels  should  surround  thee,  in  thy  glory 

and  thy  state, 

I  would  knock  upon  those  portals,  like  a  ghost  from 

haunted  lands, 
And  thy  heart  should  quake  with  terror  at  those 

beating,  bony  hands. 


THE  PRINCE'S   WEDDING.  77 

I  would  come  with  funeral  garments  as  beneath  the 

gallows  drest, 
I  would  show  my  murdered  infant,  bleeding  on  my 

pulseless  breast, 

Glazed  eyes  from  sockets  starting,  lips  protruding, 

they  should  see, 
And  my  neck  with  blue  rings  circled,  where  the 

hangman  strangled  me. 

From  thy  kindly  Saviour's  bosom  I  thy  shuddering 

soul  should  tear, 
And  my  arms  should  clasp  around  thee,  dragging 

thee  to  Hell's  despair, 

Through  the  wilds  below  to  wander,  lost  to  light 
and  lost  to  hope, 

Thou  and  I  bound  fast  forever  by  the  coiling  hang 
man's  rope. 

Though  the  servile  world  hath  crowned  thee,  thou 

at  last  shalt  share  my  shame; 
Though  the  worldly  priests  absolve  thee,  thou  shalt 

share  my  couch  of  flame. 


78  ELIZABETH  AND  ESSEX. 

ELIZABETH    AND    ESSEX. 

FORGIVE    thee,   writhing,   gasping    viper,    doomed, 

despairing  soul  ? 
Forgive  thee,  heartless  traitor,  who   from  me  my 

Essex  stole  ? 
I  tell  thee,  dying  woman,  as  the  death-dews  gather 

chill, 
I   loathe   thy   face — God   may  forgive  thee,  but  I 

never  will. 

The   weary,   weary  years   that  part   me  from   my 

Essex'  side 
Have  vanished,  and  I  live  again  the  hapless  day  he 

died  ; 
The  dead  Past  rises  with  its  ghastly  visage   from 

the  tomb, 
As  on  that  awful  morning  when  my  Essex  met  his 

doom. 

I  see  the  scaffold  looming  dimly  on  that  dreary  day, 
To  which  my  darling  Essex  soon   must  wrend  his 

cheerless  way ; 
I  see  the  headsman  standing  masked  in  black  and 

draped  in  red, 
With    cruel   steel    axe   gleaming,  hungry    for    my 

Essex'  head. 

His  locks  which  oft  I  fondled  soon  must  roll  into 

the  dust, 
His  soft  cheeks  whiten  'neath  the  sharpened  axe's 

pond'rous  thrust, 


ELIZABETH  AND  ESSEX.  79 

The  lips  I   kissed  so  often  soon  be  bleeding,  chill 

and  stark, 
His  bright  eyes,  clear  as  starlight,  soon   be    closed 

and  dim  and  dark. 


O  Essex,  Essex !  I  am  waiting,  longing  to  forgive ! 
O  Essex,  Essex !  stifle  struggling  pride,  consent  to 

live! 
O  Essex,  Essex !  hearken,   let   not   Death  come  in 

between ! 
O  Essex,  Essex!  hear,  oh,  hear  thy  true   love  and 

thy  queen ! 

Alas!  he  hears  not,  and  he  will  not  send  me  back 

the  ring, 
Whose  golden  circlet  would  have  made  the  fettered 

captive  king. 
And  now  my  heart  is  withered,  life  is  choked  with 

agony, 
For  Essex   treads  the   scaffold,  there   to   bow   his 

head  and  die. 

Since  then  the  birds  of  Spring-time  sing  in  vain  to 

soothe  my  woe, 
Since  then  the  Summer  blossoms   lighten  not  my 

footsteps  slow, 
Since   then   the  winds  of  Autumn   taunt   me  with 

his  dying  wail, 
Since  then  the  snows  of  Winter  haunt  me  with  his 

visage  pale. 


80  ELIZABETH  AND  ESSEX. 

A  thousand  blushing  maidens  in  my  realms  stroll 

forth  to-day 
To  meet  fond  lovers  who  will  woo  them  on  their 

happy  way, 
While  I,  their  queen,  becrowned,  bejewelled,  wildly 

wring  my  hands, 
For  my  true  lover  wandering  in  the  cheerless  spirit 

lands ! 

Can  I  forgive  thee,  who  didst  hide  from  me  the 

fatal  ring  ? 
Can  I  forgive  thee,  traitor  to  my  love,  my  lord,  my 

king? 
No,  I  will  curse  thee  as  thou  diest,  like  a  demon 

fell, 
And  when  I  follow  I  will  hound  thee  through  the 

fields  of  hell. 

Forgive  thee,  writhing,  gasping  viper,  doomed,  de 
spairing  soul  ? 

Forgive  thee,  heartless  traitor,  who  from  me  my 
Essex  stole  ? 

I  tell  thee,  dying  woman,  as  the  death-dews  gather 
chill, 

I  loathe  thy  face — God  may  forgive  thee,  but  I 
never  will. 


WHEN  I  GET  RICH.  81 

MY    QUEEN. 

THERE  is  but  one  maid  whom  my  soul  doth  love, 

And  she  is  sweeter  than  a  budding  flower. 

She  standeth  in  a  haughty  castle  tower, 
And  sees  me,  burdened  vassal,  from  above ; 
Through  marble  halls  of  wealth  her  footsteps  move, 

While  want  and  famine  round  my  rude  hut  lower ; 

She  reigneth  in  a  wondrous  royal  bower, 
While  I,  an  outcast,  on  the  highway  rove. 
But  often  'neath  the  mellow,  mazy  moon 

I  sing  her  love-songs  till  the  morning  light ; 
Oft  steal  we  through  the  blooming  fields  of  June, 

And  there,  in  secret,  lovers'  pledges  plight ; 
She  scorns  me  not ;  my  heart-throbs  thrill  in  tune 

With  Poesie,  the  one  star  of  my  night. 


WHEN   I   GET   EICH. 

"  WHEN  I  get  rich,  when  I  get  rich,"  I  whisper  to 

my  heart, 
"  O'er  scattered  roses  thou  shalt  on  thy  march  of 

triumph  start, 
Thy  golden  visions  evermore  shall  fold  their  fickle 

wings, 
And  lead  me,  robed  in  purple,  through  the  halls  of 

queens  and  kings. 

"As  some  wan,  wasted  flower,  beneath  the  parching 

desert  skies, 
Hath  fainted  with  the  fervor  till  the  rain-drops  ope 

its  eyes, 


>      OF 

r 


82  WHEN  I  GET  RICH. 

And  as  in  tearful  dreams  one  sees  a  sweet  face  long 

denied, 
And  starts,  awakens,  finds  the  loved  one  sitting  by 

his  side, 


"  So  thou,  poor,  weak,  discouraged  heart,  with  wist 
ful  waiting  sore, 

Shalt  waken,  and  thy  yearning  shall  be  soothed 
for  evermore ; 

For  I  shall  conquer  Fortune,  heartless,  ever-change 
ful  witch, 

Thy  hopes  shall  all  be  granted  when  thy  master 
shall  be  rich !" 

But  this  I've  whispered  vainly  to  my  heart  a  thou 
sand  times 

In  fleeting  years  long  perished  and  in  distant  alien 
climes, 

As  some  fond  mother,  kissing  back  the  sobs  and 
childish  tears, 

With  wondrous  fairy-stories  lulls  her  little  loved 
one's  fears. 

"  My  castle  turrets  shall  arise  above  a  craggy  height, 
Around  them  in  the  heavens  kingly  eagles  wing 

their  flight, 
With  winding  rivers,  lakes,  and  fields,  and  forests  far 

below, 
Their  ancient  summits  blooming  in  the  morning's 

crimson  glow." 


WHEN  I  GET  RICH.  83 

But  now  my  castle  crumbles,  through  its  halls  the 

ravens  wing, 
And  around  its  ruined  columns  mournful  ivy  tendrils 

cling; 
I  see  its  haggard  turrets  gleam  like  spectres  of  the 

night, 
I  see  its  ghastly  windows  blindly  stare  at  morning's 

light. 

"  When  I  have  treasures  I  shall  win  for  thee  thy 

maiden  sweet, 
And  thou,  poor  heart,  discouraged  !  shalt  not  wither 

at  her  feet ; 
With  wreaths  of  starry  diamonds  I  shall  deck  her 

golden  hair, 
Her  beauty  shall  surrender,  she  shall  save  thee  from 

despair!" 

Ah  me !  my  poor  heart  waited  vainly  for  that  happy 

day, 

A  richer  lover  won  her,  bore  the  maiden  far  away; 
Another's  are  the  kisses  that  I  loved  to  think  were 

mine, 
Another's  fingers  fondly  in  her  locks  those  circlets 

twine. 

"  My  sword  shall  conquer  empires,  and  my  sceptre 
awe  the  earth, 

My  kingdom  grandest,  broadest,  since  the  gray  crea 
tion's  birth, 


84  THE  POSTMAN. 

My  wisdom  rise  triumphant  o'er  the  secret  of  the 

tomb, 
My  fame  still    thunder   onward  till  the  judgment 

dawn  of  doom." 

Alas !  mine  eyes  were  lustrous,  but  their  morning 
splendor  dies, 

Youth's  feet  are  winged  like  eagles,  and  from  earth 
he  swiftly  flies ; 

So  now  I  falter  feebly  with  the  bleeding,  dying 
day, 

My  promise  still  is  broken,  and  my  locks  are  grow 
ing  gray ! 

"  When  I  get  rich,  when  I  get  rich  !"    Poor  heart, 

believe  it  not ! 
I'll  keep  one  promise  only :  thou  shalt  share  the 

common  lot; 
Beside  thy  dead  dreams   lying,  in  some  charnel's 

dusty  niche, 
At  last  thou'lt  slumber  equal  to  the  haughty  and  the 

rich. 


THE   POSTMAN. 

POSTMAN,  postman,  what  hast  thou  for  me  ? 
Shall  there  never  end  to  waiting  be? 
Postman,  postman,  hast  the  letter  there 
Giving  me  to  rapture  or  despair  ? 


THE  POSTMAN. 

Bearing  letters  full  of  golden  light, 
Bearing  letters  full  of  dreary  night, 
Bearing  letters  full  of  Summer  bloom, 
Bearing  letters  full  of  Winter  gloom  ! 

Bearing  letters  full  of  hope  and  cheer, 
Bearing  letters  full  of  doubt  and  fear, 
Bearing  letters  like  a  gathered  sheaf, 
Grains  of  rapture,  thorns  and  tares  of  grief! 

Thou  dost  bring  to  grasping  misers  old 
Gleaming  heaps  of  silver  and  of  gold, 
Thou  dost  tell  the  broken  merchant's  heart 
News  of  loss  and  ruin  on  the  mart. 


In  some  attic,  to  a  humble  door, 
Where  doth  dwell  some  soul  obscure, — 
Struggling  genius  with  an  unknown  name,- 
Thou  dost  bring  a  poet's  regal  fame. 

In  some  palace,  to  a  sceptred  king, 
Thou  dost  dread  and  dreary  tidings  bring. 
And  he  trembles,  hearing  thee  repeat 
News  of  desolation  and  defeat. 

Thou  dost  all  the  prisoner's  woe  dispel, 
Bringing  news  of  pardon  to  his  cell, 
Thou  dost  stab  a  mother's  bounding  joy, 
Bringing  farewells  from  her  dying  boy. 


86  BYRON. 

Postman,  postman,  here  in  doubt  I  rove ! 
Bring  me  kisses  from  the  maid  I  love. 
Bid  her  light  the  darkness  of  despair 
With  a  ringlet  from  her  golden  hair ! 


BYEOK 

His  heart  was   moulded   in  the   weakness   of  the 

crumbling  dust  and  clay, 
Yet  mighty  as  the  summit  of  some  giant  granite 

mountain  gray ; 

His   fancy   twined    the    blushing   roses   round   the 

crystal  cup  of  mirth, 
Then  like  a  fleeting  phantom  wandered  through  the 

desert's  parching  dearth ; 

Within  his  portals  Love  was  throned  in  richest  Ori 
ental  state, 

While  at  his  doorway  crouched  the  thistles  and  the 
loathsome  weeds  of  hate ; 

His  spirit  knew  not  Spring-time's  songsters,  nor  her 

dewy,  waking  flowers, 
But  loved  the  sad  magnificence  of  Autumn's  dying 

bowers ; 

His  feet  were   strangers  to  the  purple  morning's 

palaces  of  light, 
But  haunted  vistas  where  the  evening's  tearful  eyes 

grew  dim  with  night. 


BYRON.  87 

The  world   hath   grander,  purer   bards,   like   Alps 

enthroned  on  spotless  snow. 
While  he,  like  raging  ^Etna,  flames  forever  with  a 

fevered  glow  ; 

But  round   their   chilly   crowns   of  ice   the   timid 

blossoms  fear  to  twine, 
Whilst  'midst  his  lavas  spring   the  olive   and  the 

purple-clustered  vine. 

The  world  hath  poets  who  from  want  and  thraldom 

rose  to  royal  fame, 
While  he  from  state  descended  to  assume  the  bard's 

and  patriot's  name ; 

They  with  the  spell  of  old  Timotheus  raised  their 
muses  to  the  sky, 

While  he,  like  Saint  Cecilia,  drew  his  seraph  earth 
ward  from  on  high ; 

His  soul,  though  pierced  by  despot's  dagger  and  the 

envious  bigot's  thrust, 
Shall  live  when  Europe's  tongues  are  silenced  and 

the  lips  that  spake  them  dust. 


88  TO  DR.  J.  J.   WHEAT. 


TO    DK.   J.   J.   WHEAT. 

THERE  is  a  wondrous  power  in  earthly  song, 

Whose  eagle  spirit  soars  to  Paradise, 
Too  free  and  happy  for  earth's  deeds  of  wrong, 

Too  grand  and  glorious  for  our  clouded  skies. 
The  liquid  bird-notes  at  the  dawn  of  day, 

The  laughing  winds  that  kiss  the  budding  flowers, 
Breathe  echoes  of  an  Eden  far  away, 

And  sing  the  beauties  of  its  fadeless  bowers. 
Our  yearning  hearts  leap  forth  with  them  to  soar, 

And  by  their  airy  wings  are  borne  on  high  ; 
We  break  the  chains  of  clay  which  once  we  wore, 

And  feel  too  happy  for  a  tear  or  sigh. 

But  eloquence  like  thine  can  sway  the  mind 

More  strongly  than  the  trumpet's  loftiest  peal, 
More  deeply  than  the  moaning  midnight  wind, 

More  sweetly  than  the  witching  waves'  soft  spell. 
The  organ's  grand  triumphant  harmony 

Moves  not  the  soul  more  than  thy  swelling  voice, 
The  master-singer's  notes  that  mount  on  high 

Have  not  more  power  to  make  man's  heart  re 
joice. 
And  like  Arion  singing  to  the  sea, 

Till     gathering     dolphins     shone     like     rainbow 

clouds, 
Thou  spreadest  forth  thy  hand,  and  soon  we  see 

Sweet  dreams  and  visions  rise  from  tombs  and 
shrouds. 


A   VISION  IN  ASHES.  89 

When  listening  to  thee,  Fancy  breaks  her  bars, 

And  follows  in  thy  free,  unbounded  flight ; 
She  wends  her  way  beyond  the  farthest  stars, 

And  bathes  her  pinions  in  eternal  light. 
We  wander  with  thee  by  blue  Galilee, 

Where  every  wavelet  sings  a  sacred  song ; 
The  vine-clad  rocks  of  Nazareth  we  see, 

Where  Jesus,  weak  and  foot-sore,  passed  along. 
We  see  poor  Mary  weeping  bitter  tears, 

Which  wash  forever  all  her  sins  away, 
And  then  the  woman  at  the  well,  who  hears 

Of  that  unfailing  fount  which  springs  in  endless 
day. 


A    VISION    IN    ASHES. 

THE  flames  flicker  low  on  the  shadowed  hearth, 

The  cricket's  quaint  carol  is  faintly  ringing; 
My  heart,  like  the  flames  as  they  leap  from  earth, 

Through  vistas  in  dream-land  is  swiftly  winging. 
I  think  of  the  hours  in  the  spectral  past, 

Whose  echoes  are  softly  and  sadly  sighing; 
Once  more  through  the  scenes  of  that  elf-land  vast 

I  wander  'mid  bowers,  now  dead  or  dying. 

I  think  of  my  youth,  with  its  beaming  eyes, 

Its  happy  romances  forever  banished  ; 
I  think  of  my  hopes,  with  their  morning  skies, 
Whose   glories  have  faded,  whose   flowers   have 
vanished ; 

7 


90  A   VISION  IN  ASHES. 

I  think  of  my  castles,  now  sunk  in  decay, 

Uprearing  gaunt  ruins  'mid  dead  years  dreary  ; 

Of  golden-haired  joys  that  are  now  grown  gray; 
Of  visions  departed  and  dreams  grown  weary. 

I  think  of  the  friends  who  are  friends  no  more, 

All  turning  their  fancies  to  newer  faces ; 
While  I,  left  alone  with  a  heart  so  sore, 

Must  wander  dejected  through  stranger  places. 
I  sigh  as  I  think  of  the  true  ones  dead, 

I  fancy  their  pinions  still  flit  around  me ; 
Of  dead  golden  days, — they  are  now  like  lead, — 

Ah,  meshes  enchanted,  ye  still  surround  me ! 

I  sigh  for  the  spring  that  can  ne'er  return, 

Whose  roses  are  withered,  whose  sweet  birds  scat 
tered  ; 
In  vain  for  the  summer  now  lost  I  yearn, 

Whose  bowers  are  yellow  and  green  leaves  shat 
tered  ; 
I  look  o'er  the  earth  that  is  sere  and  gray, 

Where    autumn's    chill    showers    and    blasts   are 

flying, 

And  then  through  the  skies  of  the  fading  day, — 
All  nature  doth  hearken  and  answer  sighing! 

And  such  is  our  life,  with  its  sparkling  morn, 
With  visions  that  perish,  with  idle  dreaming, 

With  hopes  that  desert  us  when  weary  and  worn, 
And  sunset  is  faintly  and  coldly  gleaming. 


A   FIRESIDE  PHANTOM.  91 

The  embers  grow  pale,  lose  their  youthful  fire, 
And  ashes  all  sombre  fall  over  their  glory. 

'Tis  thus  all  my  dreams  and  my  hopes  expire, 
And  no  one  will  heed  them  or  hear  their  story. 


A    FIKESIDE    PHANTOM. 

AH,  have  pity,  lonely  spectre,  with  thy  sad,  reproach 
ful  gaze, 
Haunting  still  my  shadowed  hearth-stone  in  the 

twilight  dim  and  drear  ; 

For,  my  loved  one,  we  can  never  call  to  life  our  per 
ished  days, 

And  forever  separated  are  the  souls  once  near  and 
dear. 

Once  we  roved  the  fields  together,  hand  in  hand, 

with  thoughtless  joy, 
When  thy  lips  were  sweet  with  laughter  and  thine 

eyes  unstained  with  tears, 

Thou  a  little  fair-haired  maiden,  I  a  fond  and  dream 
ing  boy, 

Ere  we  tasted   worldly  sorrow  in  these  hapless 
later  years. 

Oh,  how  green  those   leafy  woodlands!      Oh,  how 

blue  those  summer  skies  ! 

Oh,  how  soft  the  thrush's  warblings!     Oh,  how 
clear  the  bubbling  springs! 


92  A   FIRESIDE  PHANTOM. 

Oh,  how  sweet  the  vine's  dark  clusters !     Oh,  how 

rich  the  rose's  dyes  ! 

Earth  was  strewn  with  budding  garlands,  heaven 
was  white  with  angel  wings ! 

Then  thy  dark-blue  eyes  would  charm  me  with  a 

wondrous  blissful  spell, 
And  thy  soft   cheeks'  lovely  dimples   bound  me 

like  a  chain  of  flowers ; 
Then  thy  ringing  laugh  would  thrill  me, — ah,  I  hear 

its  echo  still ! 
And  thy  merry  songs  were  sweeter  than  the  birds' 

in  woodland  bowers. 
> 

Hand  in  hand  we  wandered  ever,  viewing  many  a 

w^ondrous  land, 
Eastern  realms  whose  sands  were  golden,  diamond 

valleys,  pearly  caves, 
Fairy   isles   arid   haunted   mountains,    dream-land's 

weird  enchanted  strand, 

Knights  and  maids  in  grim  old  castles,  treasures 
sunk  beneath  the  waves. 

But,  alas !    those  dreams  have  vanished,  all  those 

days  forever  fled, 
Life  no  longer  is  a  poem,  but  a  lesson  dull  and 

dry; 
Youth,  grown  sad  and  gray  and  faded,  in  the  lap  of 

age  lies  dead, 

Summer's  golden-hearted   blossoms   sleep  where 
winter's  chill  winds  sigh. 


A   FIRESIDE  PHANTOM.  93 

Cruel  want  hath  spurred  me  onward,  toiling  for  a 

loaf  of  bread  ; 
Hateful  avarice  chilled  my  bosom,  struggling  for 

the  gleam  of  gold. 
So,  sweet  Poesie.  I  left  thee,  though  my  soul  to  thee 

was  wed, 

Though  I  loved  thee,  seraph  maiden,  more  than 
mortal  tongue  hath  told. 

Like  the  foolish  shepherd  Paris,  I  was  doomed  to 

make  a  choice, 
Whether  I  should  take  thy  rival  or  should  still 

around  thee  cling. 
"Oh,  choose  me,  who  love  so  fondly!"  spake  thy 

gentle,  pleading  voice. 

"  I  will  make  of  thee  a  poet  who  is  greater  than  a 
king! 

"  I  shall  cling  to  thee  forever,  thou  shalt  be  my  joy 

and  pride, 
Green  and  never-fading  laurels  round  thy  brow 

my  hand  shall  twine ; 
Though  thy  path  be  dark  and  dismal,  I  shall  ne'er 

desert  thy  side, 

Thine  shall  be  my  bliss  and  beauty  and  thy  sor 
rows  shall  be  mine." 

"But,"  thy  rival  quickly  answered,  "she  will  make 

thee  poor  and  low, 

Press  thee  down  to  want  and  sorrow,  doom  thy 
life  to  cruel  scorn  ; 


94  A   FIRESIDE  PHANTOM. 

But,  if  thou  wilt  but  desert  her,  fame  and  fortune 

I'll  bestow, 

And  for  earth's  enchanting  splendors  thou  shalt 
never  vainly  yearn. 

"All  her  gifts  are  false  and  empty,  all  her  promises 

are  vain, 
And  her  laurel  wreaths  are  only  strewn  upon  her 

victim's  tomb ; 

Then,  desert  her!     I  will  give  thee  pleasures  unal 
loyed  with  pain, 

In  the  present,  not  the  future,  after  life  hath  met 
its  doom." 

Then  my  treacherous  heart   disowned  thee,  and  I 

grasped  thy  rival's  prize, 
Left  thee  weeping,  sad,  and  lonely,  like  a  poor 

forsaken  child. 
Ah !  again  I  see  thee,  darling,  with  thy  mournful 

tear-stained  eyes, 

With  thy  golden  locks  dishevelled  and  thy  sweet 
face  wan  and  wild. 

All  too  late  I  called  upon  thee  to  return  unto  mine 

arms, 
For  thy  loving  heart  was  broken  and  thy  gentle 

spirit  fled. 
Nevermore  upon  my  bosom  I  shall  press  thy  sweet 

young  charms, — 

All  in  vain  I  kissed  thy  dimples,  thou  wert  cold 
and  still  and  dead  ! 


TRIUMPHANT  LOVE.  95 

Still  thy  gentle  spirit  haunts  me,  as  the  pensive  twi 
light  falls, 
And   thy   dear   blue   eyes   gaze   on   me    by   my 

shadowed,  lonely  hearth  ; 
Round  my  neck  thy  soft  arms  gather,  and  thy  kind 

voice  sweetly  calls, 

So  I  dread  thy  shade  no  longer,  stealing  back  to 
share  my  dearth. 


TRIUMPHANT    LOYE. 

To  love  and  be  loved !     I  thrill  with  my  joy, 
And  fancy  is  blooming  in  splendor  and  glory ; 

To  love  and  be  loved  !     I  dream  like  a  boy 

Who  wanders  through  gardens  of  romance  and 
story. 

For  love  is  a  gem  that  lights  a  dark  mine, 
An  islet  of  verdure  that  decks  a  gray  ocean, 

A  fount  in  the  waste  of  sweetness  divine, 

A  rainbow  allaying  the  storm's  wild  emotion. 

'Tis  love  that  gives  life  one  chalice  of  bliss, 

And  strews  the  grave's  gate-way  with  garlands 

of  flowers ; 
Like  spring,  it  awakes  the  years  with  a  kiss, 

And  wreathes  the  earth's  thistles  with  blossoming 
bowers. 


96  TRIUMPHANT  LOVE. 

The  peasant  who's  loved  is  rich  as  a  king, 
The  king  who  is  hated  is  poorest  of  mortals ; 

Sweet  love  to  lost  souls  bright  blessings  may  bring, 
And  banished,  may  darken  high    heaven's   pearl 
portals. 

The  soul  without  love !     A  bird  that  ne'er  sings, 

A  palace  deserted  to  silence  and  sadness  ! 
The  soul  without  love !     A  god  without  wings, 
An  Eden  whose  angels  have  never  known  glad 
ness  ! 

» 

To  love  and  be  loved !  the  rest  is  all  dross, 

For  riches  and  power  are  heartless  and  sterile ; 

Earth's  gifts  dim  with  rust  or  mantle  with  moss, 
And  glory  is  shrouded  in  funeral  apparel! 

A  throne  and  a  crown  are  rigid  and  cold, 

The  eye  of  the  serpent  gleams  forth  from  each 
jewel, 

While  love  doth  gild  huts  with  riches  untold, 
And  warm  into  mercy  the  hearts  of  the  cruel. 

I  love  and  am  loved!  what  more  can  life  give? 

Thy  bosom,  O  darling,  as  heaven  I  cherish ; 
Thy  kisses  would  cause  the  dead  to  revive, 

Or  lead  me,  O  precious,  to  wither  and  perish ! 

Come  go  with  me,  sweet!  thy  heart  I  enfold, 
Let  passion's  wine  chalice  enchant  us  forever! 

Our  romance  and  love  shall  never  grow  cold, 

And  we  shall  be  severed,  my  sweetest  one,  never ! 


THE  OLD  COLLEGE  DAYS.  97 

Through  life  we  shall  pass  with  hand  clasped  in 

hand, 

And  shrouded  in  cerements,  still  fondly  be  clasp 
ing. 

Together  we'll  tread  sweet  Eden's  bright  strand, 
Or  wander  unsevered  where  wild  fiends  are  gasp 
ing! 
1888. 


THE    OLD    COLLEGE    DAYS. 

(Written  for  and  read  before  the  Seventeenth  Biennial 
Convention  of  the  Sigma  Chi  Fraternity,  Chicago,  August 
31,  1888.) 

THE  days  that  have  fled  seem  brightest  and  best, 

The  moments  now  dead  most  joyous  and  bright, 
The  sweetest  on  earth  were  lips  we  then  pressed, 

The  warmest  were  hearts  now  silenced  in  night. 
The  locks  we  caressed  were  fullest  of  splendor, 

The  tones  that  we  heard  the  softest  e'er  spoken, 
The  faces  we  loved  most  gentle  and  tender, 

Those  flowers  most  fair  whose  bowers  are  broken. 

The  hearts  that  now  beat  may  charm  and  delight, 

But  those  that  are  still  were  kindest  of  all; 
Sweet  voices  may  still  to  pleasure  invite, 

But  not  as  the  tones  we  cannot  recall. 
The  eyes  that  still  wake  our  souls  to  devotion 

Are  never  so  bright  as  those  that  have  vanished, 
The  lips  we  still  touch  may  thrill  with  emotion, 

But  never  like  those  now  silenced  and  banished. 


98  THE   OLD  COLLEGE  DAYS. 

The  old  college  days  were  gayest  e'er  known, 

The  old  college  friends  the  truest  on  earth, 
The  love  of  those  friends  the  surest  e'er  won, 

The  souls  of  those  friends  the  fullest  of  mirth. 
The  boys  we  then  loved  were  braver  and  brighter, 

Their  faces  the  dearest  e'er  gathered  together, 
The  throb  of  their  hearts  was  gayer  and  lighter, — 

Ah  me  !  the  whole  year  was  soft  summer  weather. 

But  now  the  fleet  years  grow  gloomy  and  chill, 

The  light  of  the  skies  is  mantled  in  clouds, 
The  voice  of  our  mirth  grows  saddened,  then  still, 

The  raptures  of  yore  are  laid  in  their  shrouds ; 
The  dear  college  friends  are  scattered  asunder, 

The  dear  college  boys  tread  scenes  full  of  sorrow, 
Alone  and  in  doubt  the  wide  world  we  wander, 

And  lose  the  bright  past  in  each  dark  to-morrow. 

Still,  oft  in  these  days  of  darkness  and  doubt, 

When  life  from  its  height  begins  to  decline, 
Amid  the  dim  shades  a  star  will  shine  out, 

Sweet  birds  sing  their  songs  and  fair  flowers  twine. 
For  out  the  dead  past  sweet  voices  come  ringing, 

Perfumes  of  dead  flowers  revive  and  flit  hither, 
Bright  faces  we  knew  like  angels  come  winging, 

When  old  college  friends  again  meet  together ! 

And  now  on  this  night  we  gather  in  mirth, 
Like  shades  of  old  Danes  in  Odin's  feast-hall, 

And  talk  of  old  friends,  the  fullest  of  worth, 
And  talk  of  old  times,  the  dearest  of  all. 


THE  MOCKING-BIRD.  99 

Like  sailors  long  tossed  on  billows  of  ocean, 

We'll  rest  us  at  last  with  songs  and  with  stories ; 

Like  soldiers  long  driven  by  war's  wild  commotion, 
Eeposing,  we  boast  our  trophies  and  glories. 

Then,  comrades,  fill  up  each  goblet  with  wine, 

Till  bubbles  and  beads  peep  over  the  brim, 
Then  lift  them  on  high,  like  rubies  to  shine, 

Or  flaming  red  stars  when  twilight  grows  dim ; 
Now  drink  to  the  days  deserted  forever, 

And  drink  to  the  joys  that  now  have  departed  ; 
Now  drink  to  the  souls  that  fate  cannot  sever, 

And  drink  to  the  dead,  so  brave  and  true-hearted. 

May  life  for  us  all  strew  dreams  full  of  joy, 

And  bring  every  hope  to  flower  and  fruit ! 
May  each  have  the  heart  and  soul  of  a  boy, 

Where  age's  cold  craft  forever  is  mute ! 
May  all  tread  the  earth  with  hand  in  hand  twining, 

'Mid  meadows  bedecked  in  brightest  of  blossom, 
And  passing  away,  all  free  from  repining, 

Recline  in  one  bower  in  Eden's  soft  bosom ! 


THE    MOCKING-BIKD. 

(From  an  Indian  legend.) 

I. 

I  GAZED  at  a  mock-bird  high  in  a  tree, 
And  this  was  the  song  he  warbled  to  me : 


100  THE  MOCKING-BIRD. 

II. 

Thou  wond'rest  why,  as  aloft  I  soar, 
I  sing  to  thee  not  the  same  strains  o'er, 
And  marvel  much  that  the  notes  I  pour 
By  other  gay  birds  were  trilled  before, 
And  every  sound  on  the  sea  or  shore 
I  mimic  and  mock  for  evermore. 

III. 

Far  beyond  the  mystic  mountains, 
Far  beyond  the  sunset's  throne, 

Where  the  crystal  western  fountains 
Bubble  through  the  forests  lone, 

Lived  an  Indian  tribe  now  perished, 
I  their  prince  in  days  of  old  ; 

Yet  a  maiden  sweet  I  cherished 
In  a  hostile  nation's  fold. 

But  our  tribes  were  foemen  ever, 
So  our  love  we  dared  not  tell, 

And  I  saw  her  sweet  face  never 
Till  the  twilight  shadows  fell. 

Then  with  stealthy  steps  I  sought  her 
With  a  signal  sharp  and  shrill, 

Till  the  foeman  chieftain's  daughter 
Joined  me  in  the  woodland  still. 

I  would  mock  the  thrush  in  flying, 

Or  the  katydid  at  night, 
Hooting  owl  or  panther  crying, 

So  her  steps  were  guided  right. 


THE  MOCKING-BIRD.  101 

Then  we  roamed  in  bliss  together, 

Kissing  in  the  friendly  gloom, 
Till  the  blooming  stars  would  wither 

And  the  night  sink  in  her  tomb. 

But  together  once  they  found  us, 
And  they  doomed  us  both  to  die ; 

To  the  stake  they  dragged  and  bound  us, 
Where  the  cruel  flames  streamed  high. 

But  the  great  G-od  heard  our  sighing: 

In  the  sky  a  storm  upreared ; 
From  the  smoke  two  birds  came  flying, 

And  the  lovers  disappeared. 

Yet  we  heedless  twain  had  ever 

Gazed  but  in  each  other's  eyes, 
Impious  souls,  had  worshipped  never 

Him  who  rules  within  the  skies. 


So  he  saved  us  but  to  doom  us 

Through  the  moons  to  roam  apart, 

While  despair  shall  e'er  consume  us, 
Reigning  o'er  a  breaking  heart. 

I,  a  mock-bird,  fondly  singing, 
Robed  in  sombre  ashen  gray, 

She,  with  gorgeous  plumage,  winging 
In  some  forest  far  away. 


102  THE  MOCKING-BIRD. 

IY. 

My  tongue  must  twitter  through  all  the  hours, 
Still  mocking  each  sound  in  woodland  bowers. 
The  wail  of  winds  and  the  sobs  of  showers, 
The  cricket's  shrill  chirp  in  fading  flowers, 
The  night-hawk's  cry  in  her  pine-tree  towers, 
The  bark  of  the  wolf  when  midnight  lowers. 

But,  ah !  at  last,  in  a  dim,  sweet  year, 
When  gray  with  despair  and  gray  with  fear 
And  mocking  still  at  the  sounds  I  hear, 
I'll  trill  the  true  note  that  strikes  mine  ear, 
The  song  that's  sung  by  my  long-lost  dear,    - 
And  then  her  sweet  face  shall  reappear. 

Till  then  this  song  o'er  the  forest  wide 
I'll  sing  as  I  seek  my  vanished  bride : 

Y. 

I  am  seeking  for  thee  ever  through  the  emerald 

woods  of  May, 
I  am  seeking  for  thee  ever  through  October's  fields 

of  gray ; 

1  am  seeking  for  thee  ever  through  the  June-time's 
golden  glory, 

I  am  seeking  for  thee  ever  through  December's  twi 
light  hoary ; 


THE  MOCKING-BIRD.  103 

I  am  seeking  for  thee  ever  where  the  morning  buds 

are  blooming, 
I  am  seeking  for  thee  ever  where  the  vesper  shades 

are  looming  ; 

I  am  seeking  for  thee  ever  through  -the  dazzling 

skies  of  noon, 
I  am    seeking  for  thee  ever  'neath  the  wan   and 

wasted  moon ; 

I  am  striving  still  to  find  thee  'neath  the  green  mag 
nolia-trees, 

I  am  striving  still  to  find  thee  by  the  misty  northern 
seas; 

I  am  striving  still  to  find  thee  in  the  tropic  Indian 
islands, 

I  am  striving  still  to  find  thee  in  the  chill  and  track 
less  highlands ; 

I  am  striving  still  to  find  thee  'mid  the  crimson 
cactus-blossoms, 

I  am  striving  still  to  find  thee  'mid  the  white  lake- 
lilies'  bosoms ; 

I  am  striving  still  to  find  thee  in  the  realm  of  Aztec 

mild, 
I  am  striving  still  to  find  thee  in  the  land  of  Huron 

wild. 


104  THE  MOCKING-BIRD. 

So  I  seek  thee  always  faithful,  seek  thee,  sweetest, 

thus  forever, 
But  I  find  thee  in  my  roamings  banished,  vanished 

darling,  never! 

VI. 

Hear  the  blackbird,  silver-throated,  calling  me  to 

meet  him  in  the  breezy  boughs, 
Hear  the  jay,  so  blithe  and  buoyant,  bidding  me  to 

join  him  in  his  mad  carouse; 

Hear  the  redbird,  wild  and  wilful,  teasing  me  to  aid 

him  in  some  curious  quest, 
Hear  the  bluebird,  sweet  and  soothing,  bidding  me 

to  come  and  see  his  happy  nest ; 

Hear,  amid  pink-blossomed  orchards,  wooing,  cooing 

of  the  fond  enamoured  dove, 
And  the  oriole,  her  rival,  begging  me  to  bless  her 

with  my  love. 

But  my  heart  is  ever  faithful ;  never  shall  another 

love  be  known  to  me ; 
Though  the  myriad  ages  wither,  in  my  visions  only 

one  sweet  face  I  see. 

VII. 

I  burn, 

I  long,  I  yearn, 

Through  chilly  autumns  red, 

Where  blasted,  burning  deserts  spread, 


THE  MOCKING-BIRD.  105 

To  see  thy  gentle,  tender,  loving  face, 
And  hear  once  more  thy  wild,  sweet,  fawn-like  tread 
of  grace ! 

I've  not 

Thy  love  forgot; 

Then  wilt  thou  let  me  pine 

Far  from  thy  starry  eyes  divine  ? 

Return,  return  !  then  like  a  merry  boy 

I'll  sing  forever  for  thee  thrilling  tunes  of  joy  ! 

VIII. 

Indian  wigwams,  Indian  camp-fires  from  their  ruth 
less  pale-faced  foes  have  vanished, 

And  the  red  men,  like  the  red  leaves,  on  a  hoary 
winter  blast  are  banished. 

All  our  sacred  groves  have  fallen,  all  the  trophies  of 
our  tribe  have  perished, 

All  our  legends  long  forgotten,  and  our  mother- 
tongue  no  longer  cherished. 

But  amid  the  desolation,  ever  vainly  for  thy  presence 

pining, 
Never  in  my  tearful  visions  have  I  seen  thy  glorious 

plumage  shining. 

Yet  another  love  can  never  make  me  drink  from  out 

his  bubbling  chalice, 
And  no  other  maiden  woo  me  to  abide  within  her 

blissful  palace. 

8 


106  "  YE  BACHELOR." 

I  shall  love  thee  till  the  spring-time  thrilleth  not  the 

earth's  breast  with  emotion, 
I  shall  love  thee  till  the  dew-drops  all  have  vanished 

from  the  desert  ocean. 

Though  I  find  thee,  beauteous  being,  not  till  all  the 

mountains  burst  asunder, 
And  the  judgment  trumpet  rouses  all  the  earth's 

dead  like  a  peal  of  thunder. 


"YE   BACHELOR" 

OLD  friend,  you  ask   me  why,  on  this   November 

night, 
When  every  home  is  filled  with  life  and  joy  and 

light, 

I  sit  here  lonely  in  my  silent,  shadowed  room, 
Beside  this  dying  fire,  and  in  this  gathering  gloom  ? 

"Tis  true,  'tis  glorious  on   this   gay   Thanksgiving 

Night, 

To  look  into  those  homes,  so  blissful  and  so  bright ; 
'Tis  sweet  to  see  the  beaming  eyes,  the  faces  fair ; 
To  hear  the  pattering  feet  of  little  children  there. 

Yes,  true  it  is,  I  often  wish  I  were  away 

From   these   grim   walls,  from   this   dull   night,  to 

scenes  more  gay ; 
But  as  I  light  my  pipe,  its  smoke-wreaths  pinions 

take, 
And  gazing  in  that  smoke  a  thousand  dreams  awake. 


" YE  BACHELOR."  107 

And  so  I'm  not  alone,  although  you  smile  at  me, 
And  in  this  dingy  place  no  friendly  face  you  see ; 
For  in  the  darkness  beckon  airy  spirit  hands, 
And  wandering  with  them  I  am  borne  to  wondrous 
lands. 


And  now  I  see  a  dell  with  overhanging  bowers, 
Bedecked    in   sunshine   and   a   wealth    of    summer 

flowers. 

I  hear  the  bubbling  brook,  I  hear  the  lowing  herds, 
I  hear  the  singing  of  a  thousand  happy  birds. 

And  in  those  blooming  bowers  I  see  a  little  face, 
Upon  whose  cheek  no  sin  or  sorrow  shows  a  trace  ; 
Fresh  as  a  blossom  jewelled  with  the  dews  of  morn, 
Pure  as  a  young  dove  in  the  leafy  branches  born ! 

Her  eyes  are  bluer  than  the  timid  pansies  there, 
Her  laughter  lighter  than  the  bird-songs  in  the  air ; 
Her  cheeks  are  softer  than  the  peach-tree's  cluster 
ing  bloom, 
Her  lips  are  sweeter  than  the  lilac's  frail  perfume, 

And  there  we  rove  in  joy,  with  golden  skies  above, 
With  humming  bees,  and  birds  that  carol  lays  of 

love. 

Her  golden  hair  has  snared  me  in  a  maze  of  bliss ; 
Earth  fades  and  heaven  descends  around  us  as  we 

kiss. 


108  "YE  BACHELOR." 

Another  vision  comes  :  I  see  her  lying  still, 
With  snowy  blossoms  in  her  waxen  fingers  chill. 
Her  sweet,  pale  little  face,  that  never  knew  a  cloud, 
Is  mantled  round  with  silken  foldings  of  the  shroud. 

Another  vision  still :  I  see  a  new-made  grave, 

Above  whose  clods  November's  wild  winds  madly 
rave, 

With  snow-flakes  falling  at  the  wave  of  phantom 
wands, 

While  leafless  branches  moan  and  wring  their  with 
ered  hands. 

But  all   those   phantoms  vanish  now,  and   so   I'm 

here, — 

A  dull  old  bachelor,  all  wrinkled,  gray,  and  sere ; 
And  that  is  why  I  sit  and  smoke  my  pipe  alone, 
Or  watch  the  dying  embers  on  my  dim  hearth-stone. 

For  when  the  curling  whiffs  of  feathery  smoke  arise 
From  out  their  shadowy  depths,  I  see  her  love-lit 

eyes ; 

And  when  I  watch  the  embers  in  the  ashes  there, 
I  see  the  gleaming  of  her  wondrous  golden  hair. 

And  though  for  home  and  wife  and  children's  laugh 

I  yearn, 

With  her  my  heart  was  buried,  never  to  return ; 
And  though  on  earth  I  still  see  many  a  lovely  face, 
No  angel  from  the  skies  could  take  that  lost  one's 

place. 


A  FLO  WER  FROM  THE  GRA  VE  OF  SHELLEY.    109 


A  FLOWEE  FEOM  THE  GEAVE  OF 
SHELLEY. 

LONESOME  little  faded  blossom, 

Nestling  in  a  stranger's  hand, 
Torn  from  Shelley's  gentle  bosom, 

Banished  now  to  this  far  land ! 

Born  of  Shelley's  ashes  holy, 

Nourished  by  the  heart  of  Keats, 

'Midst  the  ruins  melancholy, 
And  the  charnels'  dim  retreats; 

Springing  'midst  the  arches  olden, 
And  the  dust  of  queens  and  kings, 

'Midst  the  scenes  of  legends  golden, 
And  the  haunts  of  spirit-wings! 

All  my  heart  is  filled  with  pity 

As  I  gaze  into  thy  face,— 
From  the  old  eternal  city, 

Wandering  to  this  distant  place  ! 

But  while  kings  and  queens  may  perish, 
Other  kings  and  queens  are  born, 

And  each  fading  flower  we  cherish 
Blooms  again  some  April  morn. 

Tell  me,  then,  how  buds  still  blossom, 
And  new  monarchs  come  to  reign, 

While  still  cold  is  Shelley's  bosom, 
And  his  voice  ne'er  heard  again  ? 


OF  THB 

UNI7BESITT 

,          Of        ^ 


110  THE  LITTLE  WANDERER. 

THE   LITTLE   WANDEEEE. 

TELL  me,  pretty  little  maiden, 
Flitting  round  my  footsteps  slow, 

Lips  with  song  and  laughter  laden, 
Whence  thou  comest  all  aglow? 

Bringing  dreams  of  spring-time  flowers, 
Bringing  dreams  of  sunny  skies, 

Bringing  dreams  of  summer  bowers, 
Merry  birds  and  butterflies  ! 

Bringing  dreams  of  vistas  vanished, 
Bringing  dreams  of  perished  years, 

Bringing  dreams  of  faces  banished, 
Youthful  scenes  now  dim  with  tears! 

Art  thou  not  some  truant  fairy 

Like  a  little  mortal  drest, 
Of  some  bird  with  young  wings  airy 

Flutt'ring  from  thy  mother's  nest? 

Tell  me,  little  angel  vision, 

How  thou  cam'st  to  meet  me  here ; 

Hast  thou  stol'n  from  fields  Elysian, 
Wandering,  lost  on  earth,  my  dear  ? 

No,  alas  !  thou  art  but  mortal, 

Come  to  share  our  gloom  and  dearth, — 

Newly  come  from  heaven's  bright  portal,- 
Come  to  cheer  our  cheerless  earth ! 


THE  LITTLE   WANDERER.  Ill 

Leaving  heaven,  the  angels  kissed  thee, 
And  their  great,  soft  eyes  grew  dim ; 

Leaving  heaven,  they  surely  missed  thee, 
Wandering  through  these  deserts  grim ! 

And  I  fear,  by  envy  driven, 

Pining  for  thy  swift  return, 
Soon  they'll  steal  thee  back  to  heaven, 

Leaving  us  in  tears  to  yearn. 

But  should  jealous  seraphs  spare  thee, 

Sad,  I  fear,  would  be  thy  lot ; 
Few  would  be  the  joys  to  cheer  thee ; 

Life  is  cruel,  little  tot! 

Were  I  but  some  wizard  olden, 

I  would  deck  thy  path  with  flowers 

Overarched  with  heavens  golden, 

Free  from  blasts  and  chilling  showers. 

Were  I  king,  with  wealth  and  glory, 

I  would  scatter  at  thy  feet 
Treasures  rare  of  song  and  story, 

Dreams  of  poets  bright  and  sweet. 

But  these  gifts  are  all  denied  me. 

So  my  only  prayer  can  be 
That  thou  still  may'st  flit  beside  me, 

I  from  harm  defending  thee, 


112  CONFIRMATION. 

So  thy  little  feet  may  ever 

Find  the  path  from  sharp  flints  free, 
While  the  darts  from  Sorrow's  quiver, 

Missing  thee,  shall  wound  but  me. 


"SCOKN   NOT   THE   HBAKT." 

SCORN  not  the  heart  which  may  be  proffered  thee, 

For  burning  love  may  change  to  burning  hate. 

When  summer  pineth  in  her  queenly  state, 
The  wan,  wild  autumn  in  her  path  shall  be, 
Blighting  her  blossoms  as  her  footsteps  flee ; 

When  day's  white  wings  fade  through  her  golden 
gate, 

The  shadows  gather  in  the  gloaming  late, 
And  shroud  her  splendors  in  the  solemn  sea ; 
When  through  the  tropic  forest's  noonday  warm 

The  waking  blasts  invade  the  gorgeous  bowers, 
Their  glories  perish  in  the  furious  storm  ; 

While  selfish  Life  holds  revel  through  the  hours, 
He  starts  at  last  to  see  Death's  awful  form 

Creep,  cold  and  cruel,  through  the  fading  flowers 


CONFIKMATIOK 

THE  children,  robed  in  spotless  white,  I  see 
Kneel  for  a  blessing  at  the  bishop's  feet, 
And,  as  I  gaze  upon  their  faces  sweet, 

As  pure  as  doves,  from  stain  of  sin  so  free, 


"MARY."  113 

Before  the  priest  whose  sins  unnumbered  be, 
Whose  heart  for  selfish,  sordid  aims  doth  beat, 
I  marvel  why  his  blessing  they  entreat, 

When  he  to  them  should  rather  bend  the  knee. 

Dear  little  hearts,  my  soul  adopts  your  creed  ; 

Dear  little  feet,  your  pathway  I  shall  share ; 
Dear  little  hands,  my  wanderings  ye  shall  lead ! 

Dear  little  brows,  guide  with  your  golden  hair ; 
Dear  little  lips,  my  God's  forgiveness  plead ; 

Dear  little  eyes,  shine  on  my  soul's  despair ! 


"MAKY." 

OF  all  the  sweet  names  that  ever  were  given 
To  mortals  on  earth  or  seraphs  in  heaven, 
No  matter  if  borne  by  milkmaid  or  fairy, 
The  sweetest  of  all  must  ever  be  "  Mary." 

There's  "  Helen,"  the  star  of  romance  and  story, 
Men  perished  to  wreathe  her  ringlets  with  glory ; 
There  also  is  "  Euth,"  so  true  and  so  tender, 
Whose  meekness  and  faith  make  mankind  surrender. 

And  "  Mabel"  's  a  name  that  ever  sounds  sweetly. 
And  charms  and  enchants  a  mortal  completely, 
While    "  Katie"    suggests   brown   eyes   and    brown 

tresses, 
Created  for  love  and  lover's  caresses. 


114  "MARF." 

There's  "  Maud"  with  a  mouth  as  red  as  a  cherry, 
With  kisses  so  sweet,  with  laughter  so  merry ; 
There's  "  Edith,"  whose  eyes  are  blue  as  the  fountains. 
With  ringlets  of  gold  like  morn  on  the  mountains. 

There's  "Blanche"  and  "  Adele,"  that   sound  auto 
cratic, 

Poor  "Sarah"  and  "Jane"  that  dwell  in  an  attic, 
While  "Emma"  is  dear,  all  dote  upon  "Jenny," 
And  "  Annie"  is  loved  not  least  among  many. 

But  never  a  name  like  "  Mary"  is  spoken 
To  hearts  that  are  glad  or  hearts  that  are  broken  ; 
Each  other  brings  joy  or  brightness  or  sweetness, 
But  "  Mary"  alone  has  perfect  completeness. 

The  lady  high-born  who  reigns  in  a  castle, 
The  widow  forlorn,  the  spouse  of  the  vassal, 
The  captive  chained  down  in  dungeon  cell  dreary, 
The  diademed  queen,  may  bear  the  name  "  Mary." 

And  "Mary"  's  the  soul  who  opes  the  heart's  portals, 
A  sweetheart,  perchance,  the  dearest  of  mortals ; 
A  sister,  whose  soul  is  dowered  with  beauty, 
Or  mother,  who  lives  for  love  and  for  duty. 

'Twas  Mary  who  first  wept  tears  of  contrition, 
'Twas  she  who  was  blest  with  God's  greatest  mis 
sion; 

She  stood  by  His  cross,  she  saw  His  tomb  riven, 
Her  name  shall  be  first  on  earth  and  in  heaven. 


SLEEPING  AND   WAKING.  115 

SLEEPING     AND     WAKING. 

Died,  April  23,  1892,  Alfred  DuBose,  aged  fourteen  years.") 

WHAT,  my  boy,  still  deeply  dreaming? 

Pallid  little  hands,  unfold  ! 
See  the  morning  sunlight  streaming ! 

Open,  dear  eyes,  bright  and  bold  ! 

Hear  the  buzzing  bees  a-calling 

Unto  thee  to  come  away ! 
Hear  the  breezes,  rising,  falling, 

Whisper,  "  Alfred,  it  is  day!" 

See  a  golden  sunbeam  peeping 

On  thy  folded  eyelids  white, 
Telling  thee  to  cease  thy  sleeping 

And  behold  the  morning  light ! 

Hear  the  little  birds  a-singing, 
"  Alfred,  Alfred,  ope  thine  eyes  !" 

Hear  them  still,  through  green  boughs  winging, 
"Alfred,  Alfred,  lad,  arise!" 

Hark !  oh,  hark !  sweet  voices  humming, 
They  are  seeking  thee,  my  dear ! 

See  thy  little  playmates  coming, 

Gath'ring  round  thee,  sleeping  here ! 

See  thy  loving  playmates  weeping 

All  because  thou  dost  not  wake ! 
Alfred,  Alfred,  cease  thy  sleeping 

Ere  the  watchers'  hearts  shall  break ! 


116  SLEEPING  AND   WAKING. 

But  thine  ears  are  still  unheeding, 
Though  the  morning  blossom  bright, 

Eyes  still  dim  to  fond  hearts  bleeding, 
Sleeping  in  the  golden  light. 

But  I  dream  while  homeward  roaming, 
Thinking  of  thee,  bright  and  brave, 

That  the  angels  in  the  gloaming 
Gather  at  thy  lonesome  grave. 

Smoothing  softly  boyish  tresses, 
Kissing  folded  eyelids  sweet, 

Opening  numb  hands  with  caresses, 
Warming  little  cold,  white  feet. 

Saying,  u  Dearest,  wake  forever ! 

See  the  sunny  morning  sky! 
Hear  the  birds  sing,  ceasing  never, 

In  the  blooming  branches  high  ! 

"Hear  the  merry  breezes  ringing, 
Calling  thee  to  romp  and  play ! 

See  the  angel  children  winging, — 
Wake,  dear  Alfred,  it  is  day !" 


"TELL  HOW  I  MAY  PRAISE   THEE."       117 

"TELL   HOW   I   MAY   PEAISE   THEE." 

TELL  how  I  may  praise  thec,  my  darling,  my  sweet, 
Bejewelled  in  beauty  and  gliding  in  grace ! 

I  would  I  could  gather  and  lay  at  thy  feet 
Some  garland,  my  dearest,  as  fair  as  thy  face. 

A  rose  I  would  call  thee,  proud  queen  of  the  flowers, 
Which   blossoms   in   splendor  beneath   the  June 
skies ; 

But  swiftly  it  fadeth  in  Autumn's  chill  showers, 
While  sparkles  unfading  the  light  of  thine  eyes. 

A  bird  I  would  call  thee,  whose  notes  are  divine, 
Which  warbles  while  winging   through  days  of 
delight ; 

But  hushed  is  its  singing  at  evening's  decline, 

While  thou  dost  enrapture  the  gloom  of  the  night. 

A  gem  I  would  call  thee,  with  brightest  of  beams, 
Illuming  the  grotto's  dim  twilight  and  dearth  ; 

But  lifeless  and  chilly  and  gaudy  its  gleams, 

While  softly  thy  sweetness  enchanteth  the  earth. 

A  May  morn  I'd  call  thee,  with  softest  of  skies, 
Enwreathing  with  roses  the  heavens  above ; 

But  tempests  soon  gather,  its  glory  soon  dies, 
While  beauty  unclouded  thou  wearest,  my  love  ! 

Enchantress  I'd  call  thee,  with  spell  and  with  charm, 
Who  bindeth  her  victims  with  fetters  of  gold ; 

But  she  is  surrounded  by  spectres  of  harm, 
While  angels  around  thee  pure  pinions  enfold. 


118  "BACK  TO    THE   WORLD." 

A  seraph  I'd  call  thee,  descended  from  heaven 
Bedecked  in  the  blossoms  of  Eden's  blest  bowers ; 

But  she  would  despise  us.  poor  immortals  unshriven, 
While  thou  dost   besprinkle  our  pathway   with 
flowers. 

A  star  I  would  call  thee,  with  purest  of  rays, 

Which  glitters  and  guides  us  o'er  heaven's  great 
sea; 

But  far,  far  above  us  and  earth's  dreary  ways, — 
Alas,  but  still  like  thee !  so  thou  art  to  me ! 


"BACK    TO    THE    WOKLD." 

BACK  to  the  world,  with  all  its  toils  and  tears, 

My  faltering  footsteps  slowly,  sadly  turn. 

The  one  for  whom  my  sad  soul  still  would  yearn, 
Through  weary  months  and  dreary,  dreary  years, 
With  ever-struggling  hosts  of  hopes  and  fears, 

At  last  with  careless  tongue  my  love  doth  spurn, 

And  while  I  with  my  cruel  anguish  burn, 
My  one  sweet  dream  forever  disappears. 
Within  the  crystal  goblet's  purple  gleam 

My  soul  strives  to  forget  her  starry  eyes ; 
Within  the  great  world's  swiftly-surging  stream 

My  heart  heaves  to  escape  her  sweet,  strong  ties ; 
Yet  though  'tis  buried,  well  I  know  my  dream 

Will  haunt  me  till  my  spirit  falls  and  dies. 


THE   END. 

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